The Rainbow Dilemma
.
This was a little long so, to save your friends pages it is
When I was in high school, and not recognizing myself as queer, I liked the rainbow. Having a sticker or two made me feel like I was included. I was a proud "ally" to the 2 gay people I knew. I felt it made me look open minded and supportive. I wasn’t a sheep like everyone else. I was cool. I liked gays and gays liked me.
When I came out, I thought of buying myself something rainbow. Everyone else seemed to have a rainbow of their own, I wanted one too. In fact, I thought it was an unwritten rule that every gay must own at least one rainbow item bought specifically because it was 'prideful.' That rainbow stuff you had before you were queer doesn’t count.
Shopping online, I found thousands of 'gay' products, all dripping with rainbows. Still, I couldn't find the one that fit me. Even specific genderqueer/trans merchandise seemed trite and inane to me. And though I searched relentlessly for the perfect rainbow I knew that if I found it, it wouldn’t matter. I was too broke to afford my own rainbow. In hopes of future funding, I put the 'pride wear plan' on an obsessive back burner. I tired to convince myself that I didn't need to buy anything. It was clearly a capitalist plot to take my gay money, and my gay money had better uses for me. Rainbowless, I coveted the rainbows of my friends, trying on their rainbow arm-bands, rainbow studded belts, and rainbow flag-shaped belt-buckles. I spent hours online picking out clever gay shirts, whispering promises of purchasing once I got the money. I admired the rainbow stickers on the cars in the bar parking lots, dreaming of someday having my own rainbow adorned car... or a car in general.
And though I never got my rainbow, I somehow managed to remain queer. Because of this lack of rainbow influence I started to forget about getting a rainbow. Soon the idea became insignificant. My first pride brought up old feelings, making the rainbow especially tempting. Luckily, all the free condoms, beads, and mini-rainbow flags satisfied me enough that I didn't feel the need to buy pride wear which I still could not afford.
But I couldn't hold out forever. Under the indirect influence of my prideful friend, I finally bought myself a rainbow. It was a rainbow 'splat' static-cling sticker for my car window (or more so, my parents' car that I sometimes drove). Though I had become a little bored with the rainbow craze, I was excited about buying it. It felt like I was taking part in a queer mile-stone that I had missed. I took my sticker and asked my parents if I could put it on their car. My dad told me "That would be fine, but if I better not get beat up because of it." We laughed at the joke, ignoring the reality behind it. When the time came to put the sticker on the reality hit me, adding a new element to my car-rainbowing that I hadn't accounted for. Fear. Was I outing myself? I decided to swallow my nerves and put it on anyway. After all, what was pride without bravery, right? My car was coming out of the closet and I was proud of my little gay car. I felt included, like I had joined a club for gay people with cars. I felt like a rebel, just like every other person who puts a sticker on their car that represents a sub-culture made up of hundreds of thousands of people. It was a good feeling.
When I obtained my rainbow, I was well aware of how I didn't need it. Anyone who looked at me would know I was queer, or at least think it was highly likely. I felt like I was getting the rainbow to prepare for the future. I was sure that as time passed, and as I passed, the rainbow would become more important to me... Other people seemed to feel that way so I probably would too, right?
The "LGBT" coordinator at my university created a brochure to advertise the 4 gay things on campus. She asked me to take a look at the design and I told her I was happy to help. When I opened the file I almost vomited. I had never seen a more rainbow coated PDF file in my life. Nothing on this paper represented me or the group I was in. For a moment I even wondered if there was something wrong with me that a page of rainbow swirls and gay symbols didn't relate to my reality. I then realized that if it did, I'd be on some trip and all my friends would be asking for a hit of the stuff.
My second Pride came around. It’s hard to not enjoy that one day you feel quasi-normal walking down the street. But as the sidewalk flooded with rainbows and same sex couples there was a cloud over me. The year had been hard on the scene. The Ohio smoking ban had emptied the bars and the social scene was meager at best. My friends and I had been struggling with schemes to fill the bars, putting out the best shows we could so the bartenders could pay at least some of their bills. Suddenly because it was Pride weekend all the gays were out and the bars were full. I wanted to know where all the rainbows had been all the other months of the year. As far as the eye could see there were lesbians and bears, dykes and gays, drag queens and drag kings, leather daddies and mamas, genderqueers and transfolk, and classy fags and butchy femmes, all dripping with rainbow pride. Why did they all wait until this one weekend in June to show their faces, to show their 'pride?'
After that I became quite adverse to the rainbow. I couldn't help passing snobbish judgments on those who enjoyed it in any way other than comic relief. I felt offended by rainbow wearers. Did they think they were gayer than me with more pride? Was I a bad queer because I didn't have a rainbow heart tattoo on the back of my neck? I didn't feel guilty. I knew that no matter if I passed as male or female, gay or straight, I was queer and likely to be read as such. I said "Fuck the rainbow! And fuck the capitalist culture that tells me I should have one!" However, I am not the only queer in the world, and therefore do not have the authority to call the rainbow defunct as my cultural representation. I try to keep in mind how society counts out a feminine woman or a masculine man as gay, and that the rainbow may give people a means of expression. I try to consider the unity and visibility the rainbow represents. I force myself to smile at the buckets of rainbows spilling out of prideful kids just coming out. I have good intentions, but there is no stopping it. The rainbow and I have grown apart.
While out in the real world, any sign of queer life is a rarity. Where I live, it's not unusual to feel isolated and drained, or feel the need to watch your back. Being on campus is the worst. It's a parallel dimension where I am forced to interact and pretend and pass. I was sitting in Spanish, totally bored, barely holding up my head with my fist. This girl walks in, bouncy as a super-ball. I woke from my semi-comatose state up for a second, eyeing her pink, white, and grey camo-pattern t-shirt. Just another bouncy, preppy looking girl, probably a freshman, probably another human I will never interact with normally because I'm probably too weird looking. As she sat down something hit me. Like a string pulling me up from the top of my head I slowly rose in shock as I saw the rainbow belt around her waist. It was like I'd never seen a rainbow before. Sure, maybe it's as the air-fresheners say. She's not gay, she just likes rainbows. Or she's queer, pridefully queer, and I'm not the only one in my otherwise normal-person populated class. It was like a light had been shined in on me, just for an instant. Like a beacon calling out to me, that rainbow reached out with a message. It told me I'm not alone.
It never ceases to amaze me the power of the rainbow. Regardless of the rainbow and my past, there is no doubt in its power to communicate. I still keep an eye out for rainbows in store windows and on backpacks. The sight of the colors gives sign of inclusion, that I’m not the only person in this colorless world who is somehow different. Yes, my love for the gay rainbow will never be the same, but I'll never let go. The rainbow and I, we still have our uses for each other. After all, I'm still queer and the rainbow still tells me which drivers in which cars are gay.
This was a little long so, to save your friends pages it is
When I was in high school, and not recognizing myself as queer, I liked the rainbow. Having a sticker or two made me feel like I was included. I was a proud "ally" to the 2 gay people I knew. I felt it made me look open minded and supportive. I wasn’t a sheep like everyone else. I was cool. I liked gays and gays liked me.
When I came out, I thought of buying myself something rainbow. Everyone else seemed to have a rainbow of their own, I wanted one too. In fact, I thought it was an unwritten rule that every gay must own at least one rainbow item bought specifically because it was 'prideful.' That rainbow stuff you had before you were queer doesn’t count.
Shopping online, I found thousands of 'gay' products, all dripping with rainbows. Still, I couldn't find the one that fit me. Even specific genderqueer/trans merchandise seemed trite and inane to me. And though I searched relentlessly for the perfect rainbow I knew that if I found it, it wouldn’t matter. I was too broke to afford my own rainbow. In hopes of future funding, I put the 'pride wear plan' on an obsessive back burner. I tired to convince myself that I didn't need to buy anything. It was clearly a capitalist plot to take my gay money, and my gay money had better uses for me. Rainbowless, I coveted the rainbows of my friends, trying on their rainbow arm-bands, rainbow studded belts, and rainbow flag-shaped belt-buckles. I spent hours online picking out clever gay shirts, whispering promises of purchasing once I got the money. I admired the rainbow stickers on the cars in the bar parking lots, dreaming of someday having my own rainbow adorned car... or a car in general.
And though I never got my rainbow, I somehow managed to remain queer. Because of this lack of rainbow influence I started to forget about getting a rainbow. Soon the idea became insignificant. My first pride brought up old feelings, making the rainbow especially tempting. Luckily, all the free condoms, beads, and mini-rainbow flags satisfied me enough that I didn't feel the need to buy pride wear which I still could not afford.
But I couldn't hold out forever. Under the indirect influence of my prideful friend, I finally bought myself a rainbow. It was a rainbow 'splat' static-cling sticker for my car window (or more so, my parents' car that I sometimes drove). Though I had become a little bored with the rainbow craze, I was excited about buying it. It felt like I was taking part in a queer mile-stone that I had missed. I took my sticker and asked my parents if I could put it on their car. My dad told me "That would be fine, but if I better not get beat up because of it." We laughed at the joke, ignoring the reality behind it. When the time came to put the sticker on the reality hit me, adding a new element to my car-rainbowing that I hadn't accounted for. Fear. Was I outing myself? I decided to swallow my nerves and put it on anyway. After all, what was pride without bravery, right? My car was coming out of the closet and I was proud of my little gay car. I felt included, like I had joined a club for gay people with cars. I felt like a rebel, just like every other person who puts a sticker on their car that represents a sub-culture made up of hundreds of thousands of people. It was a good feeling.
When I obtained my rainbow, I was well aware of how I didn't need it. Anyone who looked at me would know I was queer, or at least think it was highly likely. I felt like I was getting the rainbow to prepare for the future. I was sure that as time passed, and as I passed, the rainbow would become more important to me... Other people seemed to feel that way so I probably would too, right?
The "LGBT" coordinator at my university created a brochure to advertise the 4 gay things on campus. She asked me to take a look at the design and I told her I was happy to help. When I opened the file I almost vomited. I had never seen a more rainbow coated PDF file in my life. Nothing on this paper represented me or the group I was in. For a moment I even wondered if there was something wrong with me that a page of rainbow swirls and gay symbols didn't relate to my reality. I then realized that if it did, I'd be on some trip and all my friends would be asking for a hit of the stuff.
My second Pride came around. It’s hard to not enjoy that one day you feel quasi-normal walking down the street. But as the sidewalk flooded with rainbows and same sex couples there was a cloud over me. The year had been hard on the scene. The Ohio smoking ban had emptied the bars and the social scene was meager at best. My friends and I had been struggling with schemes to fill the bars, putting out the best shows we could so the bartenders could pay at least some of their bills. Suddenly because it was Pride weekend all the gays were out and the bars were full. I wanted to know where all the rainbows had been all the other months of the year. As far as the eye could see there were lesbians and bears, dykes and gays, drag queens and drag kings, leather daddies and mamas, genderqueers and transfolk, and classy fags and butchy femmes, all dripping with rainbow pride. Why did they all wait until this one weekend in June to show their faces, to show their 'pride?'
After that I became quite adverse to the rainbow. I couldn't help passing snobbish judgments on those who enjoyed it in any way other than comic relief. I felt offended by rainbow wearers. Did they think they were gayer than me with more pride? Was I a bad queer because I didn't have a rainbow heart tattoo on the back of my neck? I didn't feel guilty. I knew that no matter if I passed as male or female, gay or straight, I was queer and likely to be read as such. I said "Fuck the rainbow! And fuck the capitalist culture that tells me I should have one!" However, I am not the only queer in the world, and therefore do not have the authority to call the rainbow defunct as my cultural representation. I try to keep in mind how society counts out a feminine woman or a masculine man as gay, and that the rainbow may give people a means of expression. I try to consider the unity and visibility the rainbow represents. I force myself to smile at the buckets of rainbows spilling out of prideful kids just coming out. I have good intentions, but there is no stopping it. The rainbow and I have grown apart.
While out in the real world, any sign of queer life is a rarity. Where I live, it's not unusual to feel isolated and drained, or feel the need to watch your back. Being on campus is the worst. It's a parallel dimension where I am forced to interact and pretend and pass. I was sitting in Spanish, totally bored, barely holding up my head with my fist. This girl walks in, bouncy as a super-ball. I woke from my semi-comatose state up for a second, eyeing her pink, white, and grey camo-pattern t-shirt. Just another bouncy, preppy looking girl, probably a freshman, probably another human I will never interact with normally because I'm probably too weird looking. As she sat down something hit me. Like a string pulling me up from the top of my head I slowly rose in shock as I saw the rainbow belt around her waist. It was like I'd never seen a rainbow before. Sure, maybe it's as the air-fresheners say. She's not gay, she just likes rainbows. Or she's queer, pridefully queer, and I'm not the only one in my otherwise normal-person populated class. It was like a light had been shined in on me, just for an instant. Like a beacon calling out to me, that rainbow reached out with a message. It told me I'm not alone.
It never ceases to amaze me the power of the rainbow. Regardless of the rainbow and my past, there is no doubt in its power to communicate. I still keep an eye out for rainbows in store windows and on backpacks. The sight of the colors gives sign of inclusion, that I’m not the only person in this colorless world who is somehow different. Yes, my love for the gay rainbow will never be the same, but I'll never let go. The rainbow and I, we still have our uses for each other. After all, I'm still queer and the rainbow still tells me which drivers in which cars are gay.