It’s strange feeling like you’re late to the party. Six weeks late. That can’t possibly be fashionable. And yet that’s Vancouver.
The entire month of June was filled with Pride hype. A beer company aligned with a trans influencer. Target displayed Pride products. Haters brought on the backlash.
Goodreads sent me a newsletter listing the best new queer books. (Please let my name and my still-unpublished book show up one day.)
We remembered Stonewall. We used the media’s limited attention span to yell louder for trans rights. We danced, preferably shirtless. We wore rainbow socks and tutus as we lined streets for gay parades, floats teeming with drag queens and cute gay men, obligatorily shirtless.
Pride Tel Aviv.
Pride São Paulo.
Pride Zurich.
Pride Madrid.
Pride Dublin.
Pride Paris.
Pride Mexico City.
Pride San Francisco.
Pride L.A.
Pride NYC.
Pride Toronto.
June wound down. London wrapped things up. #Pride tweets stopped trending. Everyone switched to fireworks, Taylor Swift concerts and mentioning climate change without doing anything about it. (Hey, media…more Greta, please. And, by that, I mean Thunberg, not Gerwig.)
But then, as the dog days of August arrive, Vancouver wakes up and finds its own Pride. (Other stragglers include Amsterdam, Stockholm, Reykjavik, Montreal, Johannesburg, Taipei and Buenos Aires.)
Oh, hey world. Ahem. We’re here and we’re queer, too. So proud!
Perhaps I’m the only one who feels the scheduling is off. Most folks aren’t prone to question or turn down an opportunity for another party. In fact, I believe the Pride celebrations are calendared over a period of months to promote gay tourism. Back in the ’90s, gay men I knew jetted off to various cities for circuit parties. It was like there was a pink passport and they needed to fill it with stamps. These parties probably still happen. I’m basically off-grid in terms of Must-Do and Must-See gay events and I like it that way.
One of the benefits of having a later Pride celebration is that the rainbow flags tend to be displayed longer in Vancouver. Many businesses and residents fly their flags and slap rainbow stickers on their windows at the beginning of June because it’s widely known as Pride month and they keep them up through the first weekend in August. Like many, I maintain a healthy skepticism about corporate displays. They want our dollar. I’m okay with that. It’s nice to be courted. There was a time when that was a rarity instead of the rule. This year, businesses have had to think a little more about chiming in since haters have been emboldened in part due to conservative politicians finding there’s a cash value (aka increased political donations) in creating fear and labeling all-things-trans as excessively woke. For some, hate fosters likes. Sad times.
I passed on all Pride events this year. I’m proud; I’m just not PrideTM proud. It wasn’t that I was consciously making a statement, sitting out because the Barry Manilow retrospective I wanted came to fruition. (I just made that up, but if there was such an exhibit or performance, I’d be there.) I still see great value in holding various events that make people feel good about their identities and that allow allies to join in and have a gay old time. This gay old-timer googled events at least three times and didn’t feel like coughing up $50 for a gay boat ride or $80 for a gay dance party. I’m proud enough, no booster required, bump to my credit card statement averted.
I will say that I was amused by some of the fare. The events had appealing names. There was a “pool party” without a pool. Presumably gays were drawn to the spectacle of throngs in thongs and Speedos. Some guys with massive biceps might be able to rock a look wearing floaties. Seeing someone do the dog paddle would have only ruined the moment.
There was also a “disco party” without any soundtrack from the ’70s, just a lineup of current bands I’d never heard of. I can listen (and dance) to Donna Summer, Silver Convention and Thelma Houston anytime I want at home. YouTube automatically plays these artists for me. It knows me. I’m happily stuck in the Smiley Face decade with my pet rocks, mood rings and repeated views of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” Nothing about me will ever be trending.
Perhaps I could volunteer to be on next year’s planning committee but getting booted as a volunteer would turn my stab at Pride to shame. I’ve had enough of that already.
Where is the Pride hike? Has the gay community strayed from its long-celebrated bear culture? The prospect of a wild bear encounter seems to have lost its appeal. Regardless, a hike was the highlight of my highly personalized Pride weekend. No bears. Lots of lily pads, a few chipmunks mooching for food and supreme coastal views. I’m a gay man, quirky as hell, and not much of a follower. Proud enough.
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