If you’ve ever been to a Pride celebration you know that the people watching is fantastic! There are colorful outfits, elaborate costumes, cute kids, couples holding hands, and more. It’s lovely!

And there are no small number of people who are basically wearing nothing.

Maybe just underwear or tape over sensitive areas. As someone who is very much in favor of clothing for myself, I sometimes struggle with these public displays. Not out of any sense of respectability politics or prudishness, but simply because it’s not something I would choose for myself. I’ve heard other folks mention their discomfort (for all sorts of reasons) about the nakedness of Pride and so I spent some time reflecting on my own reaction.

Pride (for all of its faults; whitewashing, trans exclusion, corporate assimilation, etc.) is a celebration of life in the face of oppression and repression.

If for 364 days of the year you are told that your body is sinful and sick… If for 364 days a year you are told that who you have sex with and who you love should be kept hidden… If for 364 days a year you are told that your body is weird and your scars are ugly and your clothing or hair or fat or penis or breasts or arms or legs or flesh itself is disgusting and vile and “unnatural”…

If for 364 days of the year you walk around in fear… If you hide your love… If you hide your body… If you drop your lover’s hand in public or refuse to kiss your lover goodbye in front of your workplace… If you fear violence walking home at night or in the broad light of the afternoon sun…

And on one day of the year; one precious day, you can be yourself without fear of judgment… If for one day you can be embodied… If for one day you can love and laugh and have sex and walk around in your underwear…

If for one precious, holy, special day you can celebrate your body, your flesh, your love, your passion, your life, than you should celebrate, embrace, and love it all.

Photo © Da Ping Luo, used with permission