In 2017, a generation of young queer people looked at Tom’s work and saw not a fetish, but a fortress. They saw men who refused to be ashamed during the AIDS crisis (Tom drew condoms into his work in the 80s, a radical act) and refused to be invisible.
For many older gay men watching this happen in real-time in 2017, the feeling was one of vertigo. They remembered the days when buying a Tom of Finland calendar meant going to a grimy adult bookstore and paying in cash to avoid a paper trail. Now, a teenager in Idaho could buy a Tom of Finland phone case from Amazon in two clicks.
Conclusion Tom of Finland’s art occupies a complex place between eroticism, cultural affirmation, and contested representation. By 2017 his work had moved firmly into public cultural institutions and critical discourse, prompting celebratory retrospectives and rigorous critiques alike. This dual response—admiration for his role in shaping queer visual culture and scrutiny of the exclusions embedded in his idealized masculinity—speaks to the enduring power of his images and the necessity of contextual, critical engagement as society reconsiders histories of desire, identity, and representation.
In early 2017, Galerie Judin in Berlin hosted a major exhibition titled Touko Laaksonen: The Man Behind Tom of Finland , featuring preparatory drawings like Untitled (1978) and TOM’s Leather Guards #1 (1976).
: Some critics from The New York Times and The Guardian noted that while Laaksonen's art was revolutionary, the film itself followed a somewhat conservative, "straight-laced" biopic formula .
