Everybody say gay
A few summers ago, I wrote a Pride Month piece for Make Bank (where I was working as Editor at the time) about how my relationship with the word “gay” has changed over the years. It was, and still is, one of my favourite articles I have ever written, so here it is again…
I have always been aware of my queerness, but it took me quite a while to stop mistaking it for a weakness.
Growing up, the word “gay” had majorly negative connotations in my mind. This wasn’t because I never heard homosexuality talked about positively. I grew up listening to my mum reminisce about the gay best friend she had in her 20s and I have fond memories of watching my auntie marry her wife (that same aunty has suspected I was gay since I was four years old - a queer instinct which has since been proved right).
Raising a kid whose idea of fun was playing with his sister’s Barbie dolls and pretending to hoover, my parents were ready for me to come out as gay a good 15 years before I did - and more than happy for me to do so. At home, being gay was spoken about as exactly what it is: a completely normal part of life. Outside of those protective walls, however, it was a different story.
“I knew I didn’t want to be gay long before I knew I was. I felt othered before I’d even had the time to work out what was so abnormal about me. ”
When I think back to my first introduction to LGBTQ+ labels, it sadly isn’t the positive examples which stick out in my mind. I remember the word “gay” being slung around as an insult in the playground so regularly that it became its primary definition. I remember pretending not to notice when insecure teenage boys mocked any effeminate actions I made behind my back. I remember expressing an interest in interior design and being asked, “Do you want to be Colin or Justin?” (For anyone too young to know, Colin and Justin are a gay couple who hosted a television show about decorating houses back in the early 2000s. It was an ignorant joke, but a current reference at the time.)
High school is a mentally messy time for everyone, so I can forgive the lack of sensitivity from my fellow pupils. What I find far less excusable are my memories of some teachers being just as bad. The woman who fumbled through our sex education classes telling a story about the time she consoled a mother who had found straight porn underneath her son’s bed with the words “at least you know he’s normal”. The equally oblivious male teacher who told me that we were playing football (in the PE class, which I, of course, had a note to get out of) because that’s what “normal boys” liked to do.
There was a lot of language used during my high school days, which made me feel that something in me was different, and not in a good way. I felt othered before I’d even had the time to work out what was so abnormal about me. I knew I didn’t want to be gay long before I knew I was. Sexuality was a topic I made every effort not to think about, let alone discuss.
I left high school almost ten years ago. Over the past decade, I have learnt the meaning of the term homophobic micro-aggression and the fact that it is not “normal” for them to be a part of your everyday life. I have not only accepted the fact that I am gay but fully embraced it.
A significant amount of this self-acceptance happened during my time at art school. Moving to Dundee to study Illustration at Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art and Design helped me realise that being gay is about a lot more than just fancying boys (although that is a part that I unashamedly enjoy). Being gay invites you into a world of queerness. It introduces you to an empowering community of creatives, from groundbreaking activists to gender-bending drag queens. It teaches you how to use your collective trauma as motivation to keep pushing for the world we all deserve to live in. It encourages you to break moulds, dismiss binaries and make true self-expression a top priority. In short, being gay is bloody brilliant.
Being queer makes you distinctly aware of the importance of events such as Pride Month. Pride means different things to different people. For me, it is, in part, an opportunity to reflect on my queer journey and the mental health obstacles I have overcome along the way. It feels like an episode of Drag Race where RuPaul is holding up a childhood photo of me and asking: what would you say to young Greg?
If, somehow, I could speak to a younger version of myself, I would have a lot to say. I’d tell him about the gay fashion designers and non-binary illustrators he will one day admire, the new trans Barbie he’d love to play with, the queer television shows he’ll one day obsess over and the pansexual pals he’ll discuss them with. Once I started talking about all the reasons it is great being gay, you wouldn’t be able to shut me up.
“My relationship with the word gay has changed a lot over the years, but it shouldn’t have had to.”
My relationship with the word gay has changed a lot over the years, but it shouldn’t have had to. Gay, queer and the entire dictionary of LGBTQ+ terms are words I use in exclusively positive ways now, and that should be the norm.
Whether you identify as LGBTQ+ or not, I’d encourage everybody to say gay in a celebratory way as regularly as they can. The opposition is often as aggressive as they are ignorant, so we must be as loud as we are proud. We all have a part to play in showing the next generation that queerness is magic.
A present-day note
It’s only been a few years since I wrote this article, and yet it feels like we are in a drastically different political landscape, particularly in terms of LGBTQ+ issues. Queer rights, especially those of trans people, are being stripped away, and human lives are being turned into political weapons.
For these reasons, it feels more important than ever to proudly identify as a gay, queer man, and to continue speaking loudly about the magic of queerness for all to hear. I will endeavour to keep doing so, and encourage you to do the same.