A different pride ride

“Don’t ask, don’t tell” perfectly sums up my experience growing up as a gay kid in Cleveland, Ohio. We all could sense it was there, yet between friends, parents and even myself, it was never spoken about.

At a mere 10 years old I was mocked by classmates when wearing GAP shirts - which obviously stood for "Gay and Proud".  A great way to have an identity crisis - as they weren't mistaken, yet how could I have even been ready to confidentially confirm and accept that?! 

Things didn’t improve much with time. When I graduated and attended a university in rural Ohio, I found myself in a deeply conservative environment. Again, I retreated into silence. I didn’t share my feelings, desires, or even lighthearted crushes.

Coming out felt like crossing a minefield. When I was finally ready to tell one of my best friends, I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. Instead, I wrote it on a piece of paper and slipped it under the bathroom door while she was inside.

And then finally at age 22 I made it over to Boston, where I saw my first gay flags on houses. And realized I could go to a gay bar and chat with people. In my office space I began openly speaking about random guys I finally had the chance to flirt with (way more interesting than sales forecasts). 

 I finally came into my own skin, and now walk around unbothered and openly about who I am. While this is a complete spark-notes of my entire upbringing, as we enter pride month, even the smallest glimpse into years worth of struggle can help provide the perspective others need. 

However, I have to critique what pride, and being gay has turned into, because it's not always honest stories. There has been a complete 180 turn for those in the gay world that I find slightly unsettling.

Gay identity is in the spotlight now more than ever, associated with loud, colorful, unapologetic. Terms like “queen,” “icon,” “slay,” and “bossy” are thrown around like confetti—not just by gay men but also by straight girls/nervous straight men eager to ride the wave. Everyone is suddenly an ally, wants a gay best friend, and has no recollection of what it was like in 2010!

After generations of being silenced, it makes sense that many gay people are demanding to be seen and heard. But somewhere in the celebration, I think we’ve lost something. The pendulum has swung so far that it feels performative—like most are trying to embody a single, exaggerated version of “gayness” just to feel accepted.

After fighting so hard to break out of societal molds, we’ve created a new one: dramatic—and exhausting. Screaming “YAAAS” becomes the key to validation. Personality becomes performance. It’s not just a trauma response—it’s a mass conformity of identity, shaped by pain and reaction rather than freedom. Humbleness has fleeted. 

Life's highest achievement is now the number of Fire Island invitations. And outsiders think they're an ally because they went to a brunch drag show (did you really not notice the entire restaurant was also just random suburban girls filming the entire experience).

Where is the dignity? Where is the purpose?

I believe the gay community would be better served by striving to be noble men—not caricatures, not eternal party boys, not adult children. Less is more when it comes to "YAAAS",  paired with occasional circuit parties. But when these thing becomes the go-to emotional response for everything, it’s a little terrifying.

We have so much potential. Gay men typically aren’t pressured by a biological clock. We often have high income, more time, more freedom. But instead of using those gifts to serve others, volunteer, mentor, grow or create something, many remain stuck in cycles of superficial validation and competitive sexuality.

We’re capable of being grounded, responsible, wise—and still sexy, still fun, still joyful. What if we built our personalities on humility, strength, and emotional intelligence—and then chose how to incorporate the wildness, instead of letting it define us?

We’ve been through hell. We’ve survived. Maybe now it’s time to grow—not away from joy, but into purpose.

Has the noble gay man ever existed? The kind who doesn’t view straight people as enemies but as allies in building a better world?

Earth is a shared spaceship. We all need to pull our weight in a way beyond ourselves that is fabulous. Go slay.