The 2017 revival did not occur in a vacuum. It coincided with the rise of the #MeToo movement and an intense cultural debate about masculinity, power, and consent. Critics on the left occasionally questioned Tom’s aesthetic: was his celebration of the “male animal” simply a replication of toxic, patriarchal power structures? Were his depictions of uniformed authority figures (cops, soldiers) politically problematic in an era of police brutality and militarism?
The centennial of 2017 accomplished what Laaksonen, who died in 1991, could never have dreamed: it transformed him from a niche pornographer into a master artist, a national hero, and a philosopher of desire. In celebrating his 100th birthday, the world finally caught up to Tom of Finland. The men in black leather no longer had to hide in the shadows. They had stepped, fully erect and grinning, into the bright light of history. tom of finland -2017-
This official state endorsement was staggering. For decades, Finland had a complicated relationship with its most famous erotic artist. Laaksonen, a former army officer, had to send his work abroad to be published, as Finland’s anti-gay laws remained on the books until 1971. To see his art on a postage stamp—a symbol of national pride and civic order—represented a complete reclamation. Finland was no longer apologizing for Tom; it was claiming him as a national treasure, a cultural export on par with Alvar Aalto and Jean Sibelius. The stamp release turned Tom of Finland into a household name in his homeland, a status he never achieved in life. The 2017 revival did not occur in a vacuum
The most surreal—and telling—event of 2017 occurred not in the art districts of West Hollywood, but at the post offices of Helsinki. On September 8, 2017, Posti , the Finnish postal service, issued three Tom of Finland stamps. The designs featured a self-portrait of Laaksonen and two of his iconic leather-clad characters. The reaction was a perfect microcosm of the culture wars of the late 2010s. Conservative politicians in Finland fumed, claiming the state was endorsing pornography. Yet the public response was overwhelmingly positive, with the stamps selling out in record time. Were his depictions of uniformed authority figures (cops,
In response, 2017’s discourse around Tom of Finland matured. Scholars and activists pointed out that Tom’s masculinity was a camp performance—so exaggerated as to be absurd. The leather cop in a Tom drawing is not an agent of state repression; he is a sexual fantasy who exists only for the pleasure of other men. Furthermore, Tom’s work was inherently democratic. He drew men of all ages and body types (though always muscular), and his influence directly fueled the leather and BDSM subcultures that pioneered safe-sex practices during the AIDS crisis. The 2017 centennial argued that Tom’s world was not a precursor to Andrew Tate-style misogyny, but a queer utopia where masculinity was a costume to be put on and taken off at will.
By the close of 2017, Tom of Finland was no longer a secret. The Tom of Finland Foundation, based in Los Angeles and dedicated to preserving erotic art, saw its membership and donations skyrocket. Major fashion houses—Saint Laurent, Balenciaga—explicitly cited his line work in their collections. His imagery, once hidden in wallets and tucked under mattresses, was now available on phone cases, coffee table books, and (briefly) official postal mail.