(Special Note: Yes, I know it’s already the end of June, and I’m just publishing my guide for Pride. But, I’ve been beyond overbooked, honey. With all the parades, parties, booze cruises, picnics, brunches, and “T-Dances,” little ole Gaylord is exhausticated. I needed time to collect my thoughts and my personal belongings from the tri-state area.
So before the claws come out and someone snatches Miss Drag Queen 2026’s wig, let me set you straight, “only in a manner of speaking,” on how to really reign on your parade. Now and forever.)
My dearest Rainbow Brites and Brites-Adjacent:
It’s June, and that means heat, humidity, and lots of rainbow glitter. It’s an enchanted month when every corporation suddenly remembers the existence of gay people long enough to redesign their logos and try to sell you rainbow-colored merchandise. Get in on the discounts for items like a rainbow limited-edition leaf blower, a rainbow toaster, and a rainbow toilet plunger labeled “For Clogged Closets.”
Yes, if you haven’t caught on, it’s Gay Pride Month.
Thirty exciting days when gay people celebrate who they are, straight allies try to memorize LGBTQIA2S+, and MAGA, evangelical, homophobic, and bigoted folks demand a Straight Pride Month. “Honey, there doesn’t need to be a special month. Every day is a heterosexual celebration. You’re not marginalized. You’re just insecure in your own sexuality and afraid to look in your closet because you might discover the only thing hanging there is you in a feather boa.
As your trusted lifestyle guru and part-time emotional support gay, I have assembled this handy guide to celebrating Pride and surviving it.
Rule #1: Pace Yourself
Pride month is a marathon disguised as seventeen parades, twenty-four brunches, fifteen Happy Hours, eight fundraisers, six rooftop parties, and one questionable invitation to “Rainbow Naked Yoga.”
Pride celebrations involve walking at least six miles in ninety-degree weather. Some of you, dungeon daddies, might be wearing leather. No one survives June 30 without proper hydration. That means water. Not rosé. Not espresso martinis. Not spritzes. Or a suspicious frozen blue cocktail called “Slushie Balls.” Repeat the mantra, “Water, Aqua, Acqua, H₂O.” Alternate with vodka. We’re celebrating, not training for the Olympics,
Rule #2: Dress to Impress. Someone will always be dressed better than you.
You spent three weeks planning a fabulous bespoke ensemble with enough sequins to interfere with nearby airport radar. Then someone walks by wearing a hand-beaded cape, twelve-foot rainbow wings, platform boots, LED eyelashes, and carrying a Chihuahua dressed as Barkbra Streisand. Just smile and compliment them.
Remember, people can only take so much of the rainbow—just ask Dorothy. Later, you can question every life choice you’ve made and rework your ensemble for next year.
Rule #3: Beware of Glitter
Pride events breed glitter. It reproduces. People think it is decorative. It’s not.
Glitter is an invasive species. Scientists estimate that every person who has ever celebrated at a Pride event has one teaspoon of glitter in their body. You’ll find it in your car, shower, laundry, and underwear drawer. Years from now, when heirs open your will, glitter will fall out.
Rule #4: Prepare for Straight Allies
Bless them. Straight allies are adorable. They're recognizable immediately because they bought rainbow sneakers, a rainbow watchband, a rainbow Stanley cup, and somehow found rainbow windshield wipers. Their Amazon purchase history looks like a unicorn exploded.
While she waves a sequined banner proclaiming “Love is Love,” have patience with old hippie Aunt Helen. She hasn’t shaved her armpits since the summer of '69, and the rainbow bra she decided to wear without a shirt looks more like a rainbow hammock stretched below her waistline. Remember she was the one who let you try on her purple feather boa, taught you how to make a killer dirty martini, and bought you a copy of Playgirl for your eighteenth birthday.
An ally’s love is unconditional, and that is wonderful
Rule #5: Never Say “This Won’t Take Long.”
Nothing at Pride “won’t take long.”
“I’ll jut stop for one drink.”
Three hours.
“I’m only saying hello.”
Forty-five minutes.
"The parade is almost over.”
Four hours later…
Then:
…you’re debating whether to bail before the fifth drag Madonna float. I’ve watched parades so long that boys have gone through puberty, grown a goatee, and found their first boyfriend.
Rule #6: Respect the Drag Queens
Drag queens are a force of nature that science can’t explain. They can walk in heels taller than most basketball players.
They’re able to apply false eyelashes on a rollercoaster.
They can style a wig while hanging upside down in a hurricane, lip-syncing a Whitney Houston hit.
They’ll deliver stinging insults with the warmth of your grandmother serving apple pie.
Do not challenge them or look them directly in the eye.
Simply applaud and give them two snaps up and your undivided attention.
Rule #7: The Dance Floor is Not for the Faint of Heart
Every Pride dance floor contains four species.
The professional. They’re graceful, limber, and currently dancing on Broadway
The one who thinks they’re professional. They pivot, attempt a fan kick, then transition directly into a medical emergency.
The catwalk poser. They’re self-important and saunter across the dance floor like a model during NYC Fashion Week. Except they’re not modeling Gucci. They’re wearing Macy’s clearance rack.
And Chad. Poor Chad has absolutely no rhythm and might be tone-deaf. Chad does not care. Chad is having the time of his life. Be Chad.
Rule #8: Don’t Try to Keep Up With Twenty-Five-Year-Olds
At twenty-five, Pride lasts all month
At forty-five, Pride lasts until about 4:30 in the afternoon.
At fifty-five, you’ve already asked, “Will there be seating?”
At sixty-five, you’re evaluating if you should attend and if there will be shade trees nearby. You’re checking Google Earth like a land developer.
There is no expiration date on joining the party, but there is an expiration date on the sunscreen, the Icy Hot, and the Motrin you’ll need for the after-party.
Rule #9: Brunch Is Not Optional
I don’t care if you’ve already been to Jamba Juice—you haven’t.
Pride brunch follows a different law of nutrition. Calories consumed beneath rainbow decorations don’t count. They become memories.
The mimosa pitcher counts as a fruit.
The eggs Benedict are really a multivitamin.
Hash browns are emotional support potatoes.
This is settled science.
Don’t argue with me.
Rule #10: Remember What Pride Actually Is
Beneath the glitter explosions, the disco remixes, the bedazzled sneakers, the MAC eyeliner, the baby-oiled abs, and the elderly Chad dancing with impossible confidence to songs released before the Titanic sank, Pride remains something beautifully stubborn.
It is celebration.
It is resilience.
It is laughter after years when laughter wasn’t easy.
It is finding your people.
Sometimes those people will be a he, a she, or a they.
Sometimes they might be wearing six-inch heels.
Sometimes they’ll wear hiking boots.
Sometimes they might be wearing a tube top—forgive them.
So wave your flags.
Dance to Madonna or Dua Lipa.
Sing loudly with Lady Gaga or Cher.
Compliment strangers.
Support LGBTQ+ organizations after June 30.
And if someone tells you Pride is “too colorful,” simply smile.
Life already provides enough beige.
Happy Pride, my beautiful creatures.
Remember: Civilizations rise. Civilizations fall. But gays will always ask the time immemorial question.
“Okay…but who’s doing brunch?”
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