A Prideful Invitation
Growing up in an extremely liberal household in North London suburbia, I rarely witnessed explicit homophobia. My godfather was gay, one of my best friends cross-dressed on the weekends and a number of my girlfriends openly questioned their sexuality and experimented with each other during class breaks. I tutored a gender non-binary sixteen-year-old, I was always sure to be up to date with gender pronouns and was no stranger to gender neutral bathrooms.
Yet, my experience was undoubtedly anomalous and still marked by discreet undercurrents of homophobia and transphobia. My best friend has spent the last ten years in and out of therapy, still unable to understand the judgment that surrounds him and casts shadows on his love life. I tutored the sixteen-year-old because she has moved schools twice, unable to find her place in same-sex schooling. I have never met my godfather because he was murdered two months before I was born.
This week, Los Angeles celebrated its 48th Gay Pride Weekend. I was fortunate enough to be invited to the Levi’s Jeans and Them’s Barbeque, a collaboration between two iconic brands to acknowledge and celebrate the diversity of the community. I wasn’t sure what to expect but given the combination of its Hollywood location and celebrity guest list, I made sure to dress as avant-garde as I could, if not anything but to detract from the substantial air cast that enveloped my right leg.
Colourful balloons everywhere. Customised Levi’s rainbow shirts. An open bar serving spicy cucumber margaritas and watermelon coolers. DJ IamKittens killing it with the throwbacks on the decks. Cake pops from the iconic LA Milk Bar.
Basically, think of the coolest barbeque you’ve ever been too and multiply it by a hundred. Even real, relevant celebrities!
Yet all of it was totally irrelevant. How good the drinks were, how much free merchandise I snagged without looking shady, and my tragic attempt at cutting-edge fashion lacked any gravity without thinking about why I was there in the first place.
I am currently living in a country where a number of my friends are viewed as second class citizens. A country where, in 29 states, these friends could be legally fired on the basis of their sexuality and freely discriminated against when trying to buy a house. I live in a country where conversion therapy is perfectly legal in certain areas; a place where conservatives often manipulate religious rhetoric to further discriminate against the LGBTQ community ironically under the Freedom Acts. I live in a decade with the highest rate of trans killings ever and a decade where some think marriage equality is the “final frontier,” when it is just one small hurdle in a very long race.
Our public displays of affection at the barbeque, irrespective of who they were directed towards, were a sign of political protests. They were a sign that the killing of Marsha Johnson, a black trans woman who struck back at police in 1969 after they banned her from a bar, was not in vein. Straight allies like myself donned our rainbow t-shirts to commemorate the fearless rioting in the days that followed Johnson’s death; a celebration of the great strides that the movement has made since then. In a country where hate crimes still take place against LGBTQ individuals, the Pride party was a place to be proud and safe in our own sexual and gender identities and ignore the hateful eyes that find it uncomfortable to watch two men kiss.
It didn’t matter whether you were a drag queen, an A-list celebrity, or just a girl on crutches. It was clear that everyone was there for one cause – pride.
I ended up sipping mimosas with a children’s TV show star, who was so engrossed in conversation that her fame never came up. A drag queen that I met whilst getting low to Ginuwine’s Pony was a Duke alum who gave up their time to talk to me about his up-and-coming book while towering over me in their nine-inch rainbow wedges. Although I was in a room filled with people far more successful, far more edgy and far more knowledgeable than me, Pride opened its arms to anyone who found it empowering, uplifting and crucial.
Pride is also a celebration of our accomplishments. In February, the Pentagon confirmed the first transgender person to join the army. Concurrently, Adam Rippon became the poster boy for the Winter Olympics, and the first to be openly gay. The following month, Daniela Vega became the first ever trans presenter at the Academy Awards. The Times 100 for 2018 praised bisexual pop singer Kesha for speaking out about sexual harassment. Ruth Davison, a lesbian politician, was also recognised by the magazine for single-handedly bringing life back into the Scottish Conservative Party. In addition to a number of political achievements, the LGBTQ community dominated Hollywood, making us all more aware of same-sex sex, transgender struggle and the importance of diversity in a world we often label as “free.”
The event itself spoke emphatically of this progress. It was hosted by Them, a next generation platform created by Condé Nast to chronicle and celebrate stories, people and events through the lens of today’s LGBTQ community. It’s partner Levi’s, also uses its status, allure, and annual Pride collection to increase visibility of the cause whilst celebrating the LGBTQ community.
It may have just been a party, but Levi’s and Them created a space where we could all show love and pride. The invites were not for the great drinks or free clothes, but rather for people to empathise and respect others…an invitation to be proud of who we are.
By Sophia Parvizi-Wayne
Duke Student, leader of national campaign on mental health, Cross Country All-ACC, fashion alchemist, Huffington Post writer, and all-around world-runner
Photography by Victoria Eavis
Graphic Design by Anna Diemel & Priyanka Purohit