Amid the hectic flurry of events that inevitably occurs when a sibling graduates high school, I was able to still attend the Pride Parade this past Sunday. It is one of the many festivities marking the fourth-annual Utah Pride Festival.
This parade was my first and a memorable one at that. Apart from some pangs of jealousy at the cosmetology skills of a number of drag queens, I was truly in awe of the sheer number of people with the courage to be true to themselves in the face of overwhelming opposition.
And after the last float had made its way down the crowded city street, I basked in the glow of it all: the restoration of faith in those around me, the rekindling of that faint ember deep within my chest reminding me that none of us are as powerless as we so often think. Still, something bothered me.
I thought back to the morning of the parade, when with a group of friends I was told my outfit wasn’t “bright” enough. An unspoken dress code hung above my head, condemning my blouse and jeans to be inadequate for the festivities. I gracefully roared something regarding my right to free expression before donning neon Vans for good measure. This, in retrospect, was the source of my discord.
Pride Day represents the coming together of community members in support of each other’s differences but throughout the parade I was struck by an overpowering sense of competition. One could almost hear the crowd’s many eyes roving around, asking the same question: who here is the biggest, the brightest, the most flamboyant?
Despite the festival’s emphasis on the eradication of stereotypes regarding LGBT individuals, it seemed we were all still playing into one of the most prominent stereotypes of all. In support of those who identify as gay, thousands of people gathered downtown in the “gayest” outfits they could find.
I can’t help but imagine what expectations would exist for a festival celebrating heterosexuals, or individuals of a certain race or religion. In what ways would we feel pressured to edit our appearance to make a certain group feel comfortable? Herein lies irony, an alarming inability on our part to celebrate our differences and display them proudly in the same setting.
And while it may be true that Pride Day represents freedom of sexual expression among others, many took this as an invitation to dress as scantily as possible, in several instances coming quite close to displaying the body parts they so wished to use.
I am in no way condemning those people who chose to dress this way. Rather, what I must condemn is the social expectation that pressure many, myself included, to do the same.
Each of us boasts the exclusive right to wear as little or as much clothing as we choose, “bright” or not. It’s only when we do so, when we dress and act and love in accordance with our personal beliefs regardless of social stigma, that we experience true freedom.