In a way, this was the final realization of Tom’s fantasy. He always dreamed of a world where men could love men openly, publicly, and joyously. In 2017, that world was not real—the news was too dark for that. But for a few minutes a day, as a teenager scrolled through a re-drawn Tom of Finland man fighting a dragon or holding hands with a boyfriend, the fantasy lived. Looking back, 2017 was the year Tom of Finland stopped being a secret. It was the year the man who drew dirty pictures to survive the purges of the 1950s became a museum artifact, a movie hero, and a corporate logo.
For decades, Tom was the secret prince of the underground. His hyper-muscular, impossibly well-endowed men in tight leather and polished boots were the fantasy fuel of a closeted generation. But 2017 marked a distinct turning point: the year the underground icon was officially anointed into the mainstream canon, sparking a global debate about art, pornography, masculinity, and liberation.
It was a year of contradictions. We celebrated his liberation while mourning the loss of his underground edge. We adored his masculine power while questioning its limitations. We watched a generation embrace his aesthetic while forgetting the blood, sweat, and police raids that made it necessary. tom of finland -2017-
By bringing this story to international multiplexes (and later to streaming services), 2017 introduced Tom of Finland to a generation of queer kids who had never seen a physical copy of Daddy or Physique Pictorial . For them, he wasn't a dirty secret—he was a folk hero. However, not everyone in 2017 was celebrating. The rise of Tom of Finland in the mainstream also ignited the fiercest internal critique of his legacy.
And they looked damn good doing it.
The 2017 retrospective forced a question that echoed through the art world: Is a drawing of a penis inherently obscene, or is it a portrait of resilience? If the MOCA exhibition was the intellectual proof of Tom’s arrival, the theatrical release of the Finnish biopic Tom of Finland (directed by Dome Karukoski) in 2017 was the emotional proof.
Running from spring into that summer, the exhibition was a seismic cultural event. For sixty years, Tom’s work had lived in barber shops, bathhouses, and private collections. Now, his original drawings hung in the pristine white cube of a major institution, steps away from works by Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat. In a way, this was the final realization of Tom’s fantasy
The men with the massive chests and the tight trousers are still marching. In 2017, they finally marched through the front door of history.