You’ve seen the video. It’s grainy, it’s loud, and it’s arguably one of the most recognizable snippets of 2010s internet culture. A young man stands in a church, microphone in hand, and shouts a declaration that would eventually launch a thousand memes: "I'm not gay no more!"
Andrew Caldwell probably didn't know he was about to become a permanent fixture in the digital zeitgeist when he stood up at the 61st Holy Convocation of the Church of God in Christ (COGIC) in November 2014. He was just a guy in a suit. He felt he’d been "delivered."
But the internet isn't a church. It’s a colosseum.
Within days, that footage was everywhere. It wasn't just a video for the religious community; it became a cultural shorthand for performative transformation, the complexities of "ex-gay" narratives, and the sheer, chaotic power of viral fame. People weren't just watching a man talk about his sexuality; they were watching the birth of a persona that would spend the next decade oscillating between sincerity, legal drama, and reality TV aspirations.
The Night the Meme Was Born
Let’s look at the actual moment. It happened in St. Louis.
The atmosphere in those large-scale COGIC gatherings is electric. It’s high-energy. When Caldwell took the stage, he wasn't just saying he was changing his life; he was testifying. He famously claimed he was "delivered" from wearing women's clothes and makeup. He said he liked women now. He even threw in the line about wanting a "women’s purse" no longer, which, paradoxically, became the very thing that made him an icon in the LGBTQ+ community he was publicly disavowing.
It was a performance. Even if you believe his intent was pure at that exact second, the delivery was pure theater.
The reaction was instantaneous. The "I'm not gay no more" clip didn't just stay on YouTube. It migrated to Vine—rest in peace—where its six-second loop made the "I am delivered!" shout a rhythmic punchline. It reached a point where you couldn't scroll through social media without seeing his face.
The Commercialization of "Delivered"
Fame is a weird drug. Caldwell tried to bottle it.
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He didn't just shy away from the spotlight after the initial wave of laughter. He leaned in. Hard. He started selling "Delivered" t-shirts. He released a song. He tried to parlay the 15 minutes into a career. This is where the story gets messy because it touches on the predatory nature of viral fame.
When someone becomes a meme, we often forget they’re a person with a bank account and bills. Caldwell tried to navigate the "I'm not gay no more" brand while simultaneously dealing with the reality that most people were laughing at him, not with him. He became a fixture on the "Bad Girls Club" reunion circuit and various reality TV pilots that never quite took off.
The struggle here is obvious. How do you maintain a "delivered" persona when your entire value to the media is based on the flamboyant energy you claim to have suppressed?
Legal Battles and the Kordell Stewart Incident
If you thought the church video was the peak of the drama, you haven't followed the 2015 fallout. This is where the "I'm not gay no more" narrative took a sharp turn into the legal system.
Caldwell went on a radio show and claimed he had a romantic involvement with former NFL quarterback Kordell Stewart. It was a massive claim. Stewart, who had already dealt with years of rumors regarding his sexuality, didn't take it lying down. He sued.
Stewart eventually won a default judgment. Caldwell was ordered to pay significant damages—reports cited amounts upwards of $1.5 million—after he failed to show up to court to prove his claims. This wasn't just a meme anymore. This was a high-stakes defamation case that highlighted the dangers of the "clout-chasing" culture that often follows viral stars.
Caldwell’s credibility took a massive hit. He later admitted in various social media videos that he had fabricated the story for attention. It was a sobering moment for those who followed him; it showed that the "I'm not gay no more" guy was willing to say almost anything to stay relevant in a fast-moving digital economy.
The "Ex-Gay" Narrative vs. Reality
We have to talk about the church aspect. It’s the elephant in the room.
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The "I'm not gay no more" video is often cited by activists as a prime example of the pressure placed on individuals in certain religious backdrops to perform heteronormativity. Conversion therapy and "deliverance" ministries have been widely discredited by organizations like the American Psychological Association (APA). They point out that these practices often lead to depression, anxiety, and self-harm.
Caldwell’s public journey over the last decade has been a rollercoaster of "I'm straight," followed by sightings of him being... well, not straight.
It’s a cycle. He’ll post a video claiming he’s looking for a wife. A month later, he’s in a club acting exactly the way he said he wouldn't. This isn't just "funny" internet content; it’s a public display of the internal conflict many people face when their upbringing clashes with their identity.
Why We Can't Stop Watching
Why does "I'm not gay no more" still trend every few years?
Honestly, it’s because it’s a perfect storm of irony and earnestness. There is something deeply human about Caldwell’s desperation to be accepted by his community, even if that acceptance requires him to lie to himself and the world.
He’s a tragicomical figure.
We live in an era of "main character energy," and Caldwell was one of the first people to truly embody that without a script. He was messy. He was loud. He was inconsistent. In a world of polished influencers, his raw (and often fabricated) chaos was refreshing to a cynical audience.
The 2024 and 2025 Renaissance
Believe it or not, Andrew Caldwell is still around. He hasn't faded into obscurity.
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He’s moved his base of operations primarily to Instagram and TikTok. He still talks about being "delivered," but it’s often punctuated with a wink and a nod to his audience. He knows what people want. He knows that if he says "I'm not gay no more," he gets clicks.
He’s also become a sort of "community elder" in the world of viral memes. New memes come and go—Hawk Tuah, anyone?—but Caldwell has longevity. He’s survived lawsuits, public shaming, and the fickle nature of the internet.
The Nuance of the Meme
It’s easy to dismiss this as just another "funny video." But if you look closer, "I'm not gay no more" tells a story about:
- Religious Trauma: The performative nature of testimony in some denominations.
- Digital Persistence: How a single mistake or outburst can follow you for twenty years.
- The Attention Economy: The lengths to which people will go—including perjury—to maintain a sliver of fame.
Caldwell is a survivor of his own making. Whether you find him hilarious or heartbreaking, you can't deny his impact on how we consume viral "deliverance."
Actionable Takeaways for the Digital Age
Watching the "I'm not gay no more" saga from the outside offers some pretty blunt lessons for anyone navigating the internet today.
First, the internet never forgets. If you're going to make a public declaration, realize it will be around when you’re 50. Caldwell’s "deliverance" is his permanent digital resume.
Second, clout has a cost. The Kordell Stewart lawsuit is a textbook example of how "viral moments" can lead to actual, ruinous legal consequences. Truth matters, even in the "fake it 'til you make it" world of social media.
Third, understand the platform. Caldwell survived because he learned to lean into the joke. If he had tried to fight the meme, he would have been buried by it. By embracing the "Mr. Delivered" persona, he at least maintained control over the narrative, even if that narrative is a bit of a circus.
If you're looking for Andrew Caldwell today, you'll find him exactly where he’s always been: right in front of a camera, telling you exactly what he thinks you want to hear, and likely planning his next "deliverance." It’s a loop. It’s the internet. And apparently, for Andrew, it’s a living.
To understand the full scope of this impact, one should look into the history of COGIC's media presence and how it inadvertently created a pipeline for viral content that often contradicts the church's own conservative values. It’s a fascinating study in unintended consequences.