William Haines: The Pioneering Openly Gay Star of Hollywood

In the early 1920s, William Haines, then in his twenties, was convinced he would eventually lose his job. Working as a messenger for a finance firm in New York City, he openly admitted to lacking motivation. Assigned duties often went ignored as he roamed the city streets.

However, destiny stepped in when a woman approached him on the street, inquiring if he had ever thought about acting in films. Intrigued, Haines followed her instructions to a location where he underwent a screen test. Within half a decade, he had become one of the most sought-after stars in the country.

For those who kept up with Haines through media reports, certain descriptors repeatedly surfaced. Reporters labeled him a “bachelor,” while studio executives claimed he “lacked romantic allure,” pigeonholing him into a sarcastic on-screen character. Behind the scenes, Haines was a gay man navigating an industry and a time that rejected his identity. Despite this, he never hid who he was within Hollywood, and his career flourished—until he faced a choice: continue his rise to fame or remain authentic to himself. This decision would shape the rest of his life.

A Broadway Debut

William Haines entered the world on January 2, 1900, in Staunton, Virginia. As a teenager, he displayed a rebellious nature, running away from home at 14 and making his way to Hopewell, Virginia. There, he and a romantic partner secured employment with the Du Pont chemical company. By his late teens, Haines had matured into a tall, athletic figure with striking looks, refined taste, and a sharp wit—qualities that would serve him well in the vibrant energy of New York City.

Haines later recounted that his father, who worked in finance, secured him a messenger position on Wall Street. However, in Wisecracker, William J. Mann’s biography of the star, Mann revealed that Haines’s father was actually a cigar maker, and it was his mother, a dressmaker, who facilitated his move to New York. Regardless of the details, the job provided basic necessities but little fulfillment: Haines believed he would have been dismissed if not for his family’s connections.

In 1921, while strolling along Broadway, Haines was approached by Bijou Fernandez, a talent scout for Samuel Goldwyn Studios, which was on the verge of merging into Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM), a dominant force in the burgeoning film industry. Goldwyn was conducting its New Faces Contest, encouraging employees and theater owners to discover the next generation of actors—both men and women—to feature in their productions. While stardom wasn’t guaranteed, it offered a chance to enter the industry.

“Picture this,” Haines remarked to The Morning Call in 1929. “She was literally scouring New York’s streets in search of potential movie stars, and that’s precisely how I got my start in films.”

Fernandez directed Haines to an office a few blocks away for a photo session and assessment of his potential on-screen appeal. With nothing at stake, he participated in the open audition and waited for a response.

As Haines waited for news, he lost his job as a messenger and transitioned to working as a commercial model. However, before the year ended, he discovered he was MGM’s top male selection in the contest. (Eleanor Boardman, whom he met during his modeling stint, was chosen as the female winner.) Both were sent to Los Angeles, where MGM provided them with steady employment—albeit temporarily.

“We signed six-month contracts at $40 a week and headed to Hollywood,” he recalled.

In today’s film industry, actors enjoy the freedom to pursue roles across various studios. However, during Haines’s era, they were typically bound by exclusive contracts that restricted them to a single studio and limited their role choices. One of Haines’s initial assignments was serving as an understudy for Antonio Moreno in the movie Passions of the Sea, filmed in a remote location that worried executives about potential health risks to their stars. Though it was a humble beginning, Haines could at least claim he was officially part of Hollywood.

Haines followed up with several minor roles during the silent film period. However, the audience showed little interest in him. After a string of films failed to generate excitement, he was summoned by MGM executive Abe Lehr. As Haines later recounted, Lehr criticized him harshly, labeling him a poor actor devoid of romantic charm.

Haines offered a straightforward defense: MGM had essentially plucked him from the streets.

Lehr found his boldness amusing and decided against dismissing him. Haines went on to feature in a series of sports-themed films, portraying boxers and baseball players. While he convincingly played athletes, it wasn’t a genre he particularly enjoyed. “I’m tired of athletic roles,” he remarked, though he acknowledged the privilege of his position.

“Don’t mistake me for being temperamental. I’m not. I can’t stand hearing some stars say, ‘I cawn’t do this’ or ‘I cawn’t do that.’ Whenever I hear that, I ask, ‘What were you doing before you entered films?’ When I feel that way, I remind myself that without this movie business, I might still be doing grueling work, and that keeps me content.”

In 1926, Haines landed a pivotal role in Brown of Harvard, a college comedy centered around football, marking his first major success.

“The director didn’t want me, but the executives prevailed, as they often do, and I was given the lead,” he recalled. “The film was a huge financial success, so my struggles came to an end.”

That same year, Haines encountered the man who would remain his lifelong partner for the next 50 years. In some respects, his challenges were only just starting.

The Haines Code

While visiting New York City in 1926, Haines crossed paths with Jimmie Shields, a fellow bachelor and ex-sailor. The two quickly connected: Haines brought Shields back to Los Angeles, where he secured him roles as an extra and a stand-in.

Haines and Shields became regulars at social gatherings, mingling with Hollywood elites like Joan Crawford, Mary Pickford, and other top-tier stars. While some actors faded with the rise of “talkies,” or sound films, Haines thrived. In 1930, his debut “all-talking picture,” Navy Blues, was well-received (1929’s Alias Jimmy Valentine featured “talking sequences” but wasn’t a full talkie). He was among only seven MGM stars whose names appeared above the movie title, a prestigious honor in the industry.

Critics, however, were less kind. When one reviewer dubbed him a “ham,” Haines had a quick comeback: He quipped that the finest ham comes from Virginia.

By this time, Haines made no effort to conceal his sexuality from his colleagues, though the public remained unaware. Journalists who discovered this were unlikely to report it, as doing so would risk alienating studio executives who controlled their access. Additionally, no one was eager to publicize Haines’s openness in an industry that heavily relied on straight romantic leads.

For some, Haines’s on-screen character closely mirrored his real-life personality. Historians often point to his film Way Out West (1930) as containing subtle gay themes and hints, though it’s unclear how much of this resonated with audiences at the time.

By 1930, Hollywood faced growing pressure to regulate its moral standards. Scandals, such as those involving actor Fatty Arbuckle—who was accused (and later cleared) of manslaughter—were viewed as signs of a moral decline in the industry. In response, studios adopted a self-censorship system known as the Hays Code, named after moral enforcer (and former postmaster general) Will Hays. This code banned portrayals of successful crime, drug use, interracial relationships, and gay characters, among other topics. (The code’s influence waned by the 1950s and 1960s, though depictions of gay individuals remained taboo for years.)

Hollywood also increasingly relied on morals clauses in actors’ exclusive contracts, including a provision banning gay relationships. Haines, being a major star, managed to negotiate his way out of this clause, but with a trade-off: His contract renewals were shortened to two years instead of five. By 1931, after a string of underperforming films, he was let go before being rehired at a lower salary.

The combination of the Hays Code and Haines’s declining box office performance likely led to his pivotal meeting with MGM co-founder Louis B. Mayer in 1933. While Haines’s sexuality was no secret in Hollywood, Mayer reportedly pressured him to enter a “lavender marriage”—a sham union between a man and woman to conceal one or both partners’ true sexual orientation.

Haines, who had never been particularly passionate about acting, saw no reason to comply. He declined, fully aware it would mark the end of his film career and the start of a new chapter in his life.

Designing a New Life

Just as it was clear Haines would stay with Shields, his next career move was equally predictable. For years, he had run an antiques store in Los Angeles under a friend’s name. He was also a skilled interior designer, having decorated his own home and those of other actors to widespread praise. When Joan Crawford hired him for a project and raved about his work, William Haines Designs was established.

Haines pioneered a fresh interior design style called Hollywood Regency. Moving away from dark colors and bulky furniture, he created open, airy spaces with low-slung chairs and sofas, hand-painted wallpaper, and European antiques adorning tabletops. The style became immensely popular, attracting high-profile clients like Lucille Ball and Jack Benny. Even studio executives who had sidelined him sought his services: Jack Warner of Warner Bros. and Mayer were among his clients. Later, California governor Ronald Reagan and his wife Nancy also hired him. A Haines makeover could cost up to $50,000 per room, catering to Hollywood elites who owned multiple homes. The business thrived.

Despite escaping the reach of the Hays Code, Haines couldn’t evade discrimination. In 1936, while vacationing near Manhattan Beach, he and Shields were ambushed and assaulted by a mob of about 100 people. Some claimed Haines and Shields had behaved inappropriately toward a 6-year-old boy. In reality, Shields had simply handed the child some money as a friendly gesture. Both men recovered from their injuries, though news reports seemed to avoid addressing the possibility that it was a hate crime.

A return to Hollywood was possible, but Haines declined. Director Billy Wilder reportedly offered him a role in 1950’s Sunset Boulevard, starring his friend Gloria Swanson. However, Haines’s interior design business was thriving, and his interest in Hollywood had waned. By 1954, he had announced his “retirement” due to the success of his firm.

When Haines passed away from lung cancer in 1973, he and Shields had shared nearly five decades together. Tragically, Shields took his own life shortly afterward.

While his design company remains active today, Haines’s film career lacked the lasting impact of peers like Cary Grant or Clark Gable. His fame has largely faded from memory. Yet, during an era when stars often bowed to moral pressures, Haines stood firm in his refusal to compromise his truth.

An unverified anecdote claims Haines sent Louis B. Mayer, the man who allegedly forced him out of Hollywood, an invitation to a party celebrating his 25th anniversary with Shields. The note reportedly included a classic Haines remark: “And you said it wouldn’t last.”