I went to the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras for the first time in 2011, when I was freshly eighteen and freshly out of the closet. I remember wearing heels, a leopard print shawl and a short dress, along with a painted face and ample cleavage, because I wanted other lesbians to think I was hot. Bad idea. They thought I was straight.
I hadn’t been around the community long enough to realize that, if anything, I was repelling potential dates by conforming to the male gaze. This was a place to be yourself. There was a massive “phew!” (after some embarrassment) when I realized I could wear what made me comfortable around lesbians and that was hot to them.
Born this Way by Lady Gaga was a big hit at Mardi Gras, and in life, that year. I used to pump it out of my car stereo as I drove down my regional town’s business district. Then I got to sing it in a crowd of 300,000 people, from around the world, who were also ‘born this way’. Even though the only attention I got for my leopard print shawl was from gay men who wanted to know where I bought it, I was home.
Mardi Gras is different now. Homosexual people are considered bigots if they don’t approve of umbrellarizing the LGBT with the “queer” slur or if we won’t pretend to find the opposite sex, regardless of gender identity, attractive. Then we have straight men calling for a “return” to “traditional” (heterosexual) families, harassing/shooting gay bars, ominously praying in the street during World Pride and pretending to be gay to access intoxicated sapphic women at Pride festivals. It’s tough out there for a lesbian.
Mardi Gras coincided with Sydney hosting World Pride in 2023, bringing people from all over the world to the city. While World Pride would have made the parade busier, it just amplified pre-existing issues at Pride events today. Namely, homophobic straight people using Pride as an excuse to party.
I spoke to Bee, a lesbian in her early 20s, who went to the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade this year. “I was extremely overwhelmed and disheartened at this event,” she said. “There were multiple times that I got seriously dizzy from the crowds. Mainly though, I walked away feeling very dejected.”
Many straight people who went to World Pride events for the party were not even comfortable with homosexuality. “I wanted to go to an event where I could be around people like me, and while there certainly were lots of other LGBT people and allies there, I ran into so many straight people who just wanted an excuse to party. I met multiple straight people there who were uncomfortable with my lesbianism, and who would get weird and defensive about finding out I was one. I saw some people make comments about two women kissing, while wearing cheap rainbow headbands, or people who got in the spaces of older gay men and hurt them by drunkenly throwing around wine bottles, making them feel unsafe. I was made to feel very small and unwanted in an event that was founded on the backs of those like me trying to give us safety and space.”
Casual homophobia quickly became harassment. “I wasn’t even that GNC [gender non-conforming] in terms of dress, I don’t think, but there were a few straight women who were very short and dismissive of me and sort of scanned me up and down. What genuinely really hit me the most was that a straight guy got very handsy with me and kissed me on the cheek without my permission after I had told him I was lesbian. His straight female friend wrapped a bit of scarf around me and all of his friends started laughing at me and saying “oh she’s blushing now!” That whole interaction made me feel very gross.”
Bee has been to Mardi Gras before and noticed a starkly different experience this year. “I had gone once before to Mardi Gras when I was 17 (almost 18) and, in my opinion, it was an entirely different experience. When I was 17 I saw a few straight people just there for a party, but not nearly as many as this year. The crowds weren’t as overwhelming. It felt more like a community celebration and recognition.”
Bee intended on showing up to Pride as a lesbian more sure of her sexual orientation but did not feel welcomed. “I knew I wasn’t straight when I went [the first time], but I hadn’t fully come to terms with being a lesbian yet. That was also why I wanted to go this year. I wanted to go as the lesbian I know I am – to experience it as authentically as I could. As well as also being an adult this time around. But the differences between the two events is so large it doesn’t even feel comparable. I’m happy for whoever wants to go there, but not when it changes the entire atmosphere. This year felt like a straight rave party that had cheap plastic rainbows thrown over the top of it. Which was very disappointing to say the least.”
We are made to feel like an “animal in a zoo” at events designed to celebrate and advocate for us. “[Straight people] thought it was sooooo interesting to see gay people in the wild, while also overrunning the event. Not because they were protesting us, or trying to be us like the Q community, but just because they didn’t value us enough to be around for anything other than a party. We weren’t being supported, we were a means to an end and it was very obvious.”
