As a Gay Man I Can Proudly Say Pride Month Means Nothing to Me
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As Pride Month kicks off, everywhere around the world becomes a safe space for people of all backgrounds to express themselves freely. From the streets of Tel Aviv to the middle of Philadelphia and all places in between, rainbows and happy feet dominate the blocks. This is a time where people come together to express their great pride in being gay, and it’s something very beautiful to appreciate. After all, we’ve only come so far as to be brave enough to stick our fingers to the faces of homophobia. In spite of it all, pride month means nothing to me for many reasons more than one.
I’m Not Defined By My Sexuality
Let’s start with identity and sexuality because that’s where it begins for me. After years of being tormented for being effeminate and blatantly gay, I’ve had enough of being defined by my sexual preferences. In retrospect, being called both a f-g and somebody’s “gay best friend” both equally rubbed me the wrong way and I couldn’t comprehend why. It wasn’t until I started searching for myself as a whole that I realized it was because I’m not just gay. In fact, I’m just a man who likes other men. It’s as simple as that.
I don’t exist to be a heterosexual woman’s sensationalized “gay best friend” token stereotype. I’m also not on this planet to be a punching bag for men who have a problem with their own gender and sexual identities. I also have no desire to indulge myself in an angry mentality combined with being a militant in the name of “social justice”. I’m not my mother’s gay son nor my sister’s gay brother and I’m not your gay colleague. Moreover, being a comedian and singer defines me more than what I like to put in my mouth when I’m naked. I could keep going on and on, but I’m sure you get the point.
The LGBTQ Community Doesn’t Represent Me
To many LGBTQ people, their sexuality is their identity and all that they are. Being engulfed in that mentality mostly entails beating to the drums of mainstream culture, mindsets, and politics. Riding the waves of “queer” activism and identity mostly includes a whole lot of exclusion of those who disagree. As someone who prefers a personal choice in my own values and opinions, I refuse to grab a surfboard and drown in the waves.
Through many personal experiences, I’ve found that queer activism is militant and exclusive. As a Jew and a Zionist, seeing other Jews getting kicked out of the Chicago Dyke March for carrying a “triggering” rainbow Jewish flag says enough. Watching “tolerant” activists justify antisemitism and Hamas terrorism against innocent Israelis, Jewish and Arab alike, left poison in my mouth. And Judaism aside, I’ve also seen conservative LGBTQ members banned from different events because they merely have a different opinion. Exclusion goes against my inclusive nature, and I’m proud to say that these aren’t my people.
Sex, Drugs, Rock ’n’ Roll Had Taken a Toll on My Soul
On the opposite side of the spectrum lays a culture of clubbing, hypersexuality, femme shaming, body shaming, and harsh realities of what gay culture has come to. When you look at the men on the floats, in most cases, you will only see the perfect masculine figure. When you scroll on Grindr (and yes it does represent gay culture), you’ll see the majority of profiles declaring their disdain of feminine and fat men. Not only that, but you’ll also find that unless you live and breathe LA Fitness, then you’re a waste of breath. In that case, the majority of men just don’t breathe.
It may come off as my own bitterness from personal experiences, but I’m not the only one. Not only has this kind of culture propelled eating disorders amongst men but many times a lot of depression, anxiety, and suicide. Unfortunately, failing the expectations of having to sleep around with as many men as possible makes many gay men feel lonely. Then, when they’re rejected for being too fat, skinny, or feminine, it just sticks the knife in even deeper. I’ve had too many wounds in my chest to continue being stabbed and feeling horrible about myself.
I Found Myself When I Stopped Caring About a Gay Label
Being gay isn’t all butterflies and rainbow farts like it seems to be to many straight women and men who only see the surface on television and in movies. It’s a darker, more superficial reality that’ll never be my language. For years, I wanted to be the square peg to fit in a loose, round hole, but I just couldn’t. Once I let go, I started to see who I was and what I’m capable of as an individual. Although I thought maybe I was sexually confused and done with men, I was really just tired of cracking my skull on the pavements I’d been chasing.
At the same time, watching funny movies to make myself feel good at four in the morning felt more natural than being glued to Grindr looking for a third leg to climb. Driving late Friday nights to Malibu alone with my dog to walk the beach under the stars was more wholesome than bursting my eardrums in a West Hollywood gay club surrounded by drugs, alcohol, and ego. The art of self-deprecating comedy became more healing than beating the shit out of myself in the mirror for not being perfectly fit, masculine, or sexually fulfilled. Once I stopped tormenting myself, the inner me was finally able to breathe; I was liberated.
There is No Pride in a Community That Doesn’t Deserve It
If I’m coming off as bitter, then I’ll gladly admit that I am. But it’s not because I won’t be parading on a float with my man titties hanging free for the world to see. Surprisingly, I’m not even bitter, but disgusted. To me, there is no pride in being part of a community that embodies exclusivity while constantly crying to be included in the world at large. From militant queer activism to toxic and superficial gay culture, there is no inclusivity for the ones who dare to be different. To me, I’m grossed out and disappointed by this reality.
In spite of all that, I’ll always take a stand for equality and social justice, just on my own terms. I’d rather be my own example of what it means to be gay and proud than wait eleven months for the one month to do so for me. Being an example of inclusivity means more to me than shoving a picket sign down someone’s throat to make a point. It’s more important for me to flex my muscles of tolerance and love than the ones of my body and ego. Truly, pride means nothing to me because I care more for a world of unity than a community that continues to be divisive and divided.
