The Problem with Pride

It’s any queer kid’s dream to be met at the UK’s largest Pride festival with LGBT+ flags galore. Instead, I was met with a bunch of red flags when I made the trip to Manchester.

Words by Jessica Matthewson

Ihad been preparing for this Pride event with my friends for months. We had coordinated outfits, sorted tickets for club nights, and scheduled a concert routine – right down to toilet breaks. This obsessive planning was due to my poor experience of Glasgow Pride, which I attended as a freshly out-of-the-closet 17-year-old with no knowledge of the community I was now a part of.

I remember turning up to the event without tickets, shocked that I’d been asked for one, kicking myself that I had covered my face in glitter for nothing. Victory struck when a fed up looking steward told us there was a gap in the fence to sneak through. My friends and I sat on the steps of the Kelvingrove Art Museum, drinking cans of caffeinated, sugary, alcoholic something-or-other. Oh, the joys of being young.

Eventually, the syrupy, sickly concoction gave us the courage to sneak in, where we were met with the saddest example of a Pride event I had ever seen. Lines of stalls giving out cheap badges and free condoms. Rows upon rows of companies preaching their support for the LGBT+ community. I have to say, it was truly remarkable to see the Volkswagen logo in rainbow colours.

Quickly though, the cynic in me disappeared. We ventured over to the small stage to watch Courtney Act. There, I was plunged into the world of drag for the very first time. The warm lights hit my face over the spitting Glasgow rain, and I squinted through it to see couples of all genders holding hands in the crowd. We sang and danced, and in true Scottish fashion, partied on despite the weather. I’ll never forget that feeling. My over-romanticised view of Pride.

Cut to the summer of 2021. I’m sat on the train to Manchester surrounded by Instagram influencer-type gays. Anxious already, worried that my outfits won’t be good enough, my pictures won’t show my best angle, or I’ll spend too much money on vodka cranberries. From a production value level, Manchester was considerably superior to Glasgow Pride. The gay village lying parallel to the canal was a homely little queer place adorned with flags and fairy lights. I couldn’t quite breathe when I was there, due to the masses of people and the biceps bulging from tank tops, but it was nice to see so many drag presenters, and hear gay anthems whilst navigating our way through. The stage was immense with headliners such as Yungblud, Lucy Spraggan, Gabrielle, and my personal favourite, Sophie Ellis-Bextor. But, to be honest, the only thing Murdered on the Dancefloor that weekend was the true magic of Pride. 170,000 people attended Manchester Pride this year. A staggering figure if you remember that Pride started as a riot. The Stonewall Riots, which took place in 1969, weren’t premeditated. It all began as a police raid on the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar. Marsha P. Johnson - a transgender woman - is recognised as a leading figure in the protest. This fact is mentioned a lot when individuals in the community exclude trans people

from Pride. There would be no Pride without the work and dedication of the trans community. So, why was there not enough trans representation at Manchester Pride? Frankly, there were so many groups I couldn’t seem to locate in the sea of gay white men. There’s also the obvious ‘Rainbow Capitalism’ that exists. Companies manage to profit by making the LGBT+ community into products and practically selling our souls back to us. As June rolls around every year, logos change to a rainbow version of their normal, lifeless selves - as an I don’t need to appreciation of their support to the community - and that is all. I don’t buy rainbow need to buy rainbow bags, or clothes, or masks to show off my sexuality. I bags, or just want mainstream culture to feel supportive all year round. I hope the insane amount of money I spent on clothes, or Pride will be put to worthwhile charities, not only to the pockets of the masks to Saturday line-up. Pride is about connecting with everyshow off my one in the community. All genders, all sexualities, all races. All everything! It’s sexuality. about accepting diversity and remembering what we are fighting for, and celebrating. Forgetting the capitalist intrusion and façade of social media. I don’t like to feel lost in a community I’m told that I am a part of. A community that none of us chose to be in, yet in which we found true solace and acceptance. This is the time for a new beginning in Pride.