I WAS NEVER THE TOKEN GAY FRIEND By Nicole Lee (she/her)
Lately, I’ve been realizing this experience has offered some unique perspectives and insights, particularly when it comes to queer people being tokenized. For many LGBTQ+ people, coming out means temporarily accepting the role as the token gay friend. Even the most supportive straight people may adjust their behaviors around a newly out friend, which can force them into the margins of their family and friend groups. Many queers elect to play the part of a token gay to appease the group. It’s a small price to pay to maintain those relationships. But it weighs on you. At best, being the token gay means feeling a bit othered, being expected to speak on behalf of the LGBTQ+ community, hiding certain parts of yourself, or accommodating your friends’ discomforts over your own. At worst, it means feeling obligated to laugh along at their jokes, feeling reduced to a stereotype, or even tolerating ignorance and homophobia. I didn’t come out to my friends back home until I felt fully ready to do so. By then it was such a matter-of-fact thing that it felt comfortable and easy. I had already tested the dating pool and endured my first heartbreak. I was happy to have their support, but I didn’t crave their validation the way I would have if they were my only support system.
On one of my first dates with a woman in Ireland, a group of teens threw dirt on us and shouted: ‘Happy Pride’. It was hurtful, but I was grateful to have a safe space where I could process my feelings. None of my queer friends were shocked or doubted that it happened. Instead, I was offered solace, support, and understanding by people who had shared lived experiences.
I spent most of my 20s quietly identifying as bisexual, but, for the most part, I was living in the closet. I stood up for LGBTQ+ rights and called out homophobia at work, but people assumed I was an ally. I nodded along when my friends talked about the men in their lives. I had plenty of crushes on women, but I only shared those feelings in rare contexts. For me, dating women and then coming out as a lesbian coincided with moving to Ireland, and it was a life-changing experience. After years of being firmly immersed in straight culture, I started rock climbing with a group of nonbinary pals and sapphic women and it felt so freeing. No one acted surprised or looked uncomfortable when I mentioned my latest crush. Being gay felt new to me, but not to my community. Magically, I went from having a predominantly straight friend group in the US to cultivating deep friendships with an exclusively queer group of Irish friends. I didn’t plan it that way, but I had a fresh start to live authentically out as myself.
She was so excited to see me there, in my natural habitat. I assumed she was there to support a queer friend, but I was wrong. She was there with her straight friends because they loved the music and the fact that men were unlikely to bother them. I watched them colonise the bar and take up space on the dance floor, unaware of the power dynamic at play or their own microaggressions. That experience is why I have very low tolerance for straight people in queer spaces. Queer people often feel secondary in their family settings, at work, in public, at the gym. For so many of us, dedicated queer spaces like gay bars are the only places where we feel safe to exist—finally, fully, freely—as ourselves. When I talk about dating women, my friends and family back home sometimes get a bit awkward because they still expect the version of me they knew before I moved away. They only get to see my life up close a couple times a year. That’s the hardest part, but
there are so many advantages to my situation.
in group dynamics. In their quest to be accommodating, they’d step out of their comfort zones and ask, earnestly, how they can be more supportive. They’d lead with curiosity and be willing to recognise when they say the wrong things. Ideally, allies would recognize their own privilege and go out of their way to create safe and comfortable environments for their LGBTQ+ friends. They’d be mindful of their role in queer spaces and not centre themselves. They’d remind their straight friends that Pride is the perfect time of the year to skip the $14 rainbow-themed cocktail in their local straight bar and donate to a LGBTQ+ charity instead. Here’s to supporting queer-centric spaces, each other, and the kind of deep friendships and chosen family that feel safe and sustainable. Together, we can support and safeguard LGBTQ+ spaces while building communities where our stories and experiences are celebrated and centred.
I didn’t share this experience with my well-meaning straight friends.
I’m not suggesting that everyone who comes out should immediately drop their straight friends and find a queer friend group. Instead, I’m recognizing the importance of building a supportive network of allies who are actively trying to be more aware, understanding, and supportive. LGBTQ+ people are seeking the simplest things: love, validation, and acceptance. Too often, we feel reduced to an accessory by allies who believe they are immune to causing harm. As we move into Pride celebrations and continue the fight toward equality and representation, I think it’s increasingly important to notice and resist the attempts to tokenize and pinkwash around us. Seeing how often straight people are allowed to revel in their own ignorance is frustrating, but it’s a viable educational opportunity. In general, I think allies could be doing more to make sure their LGBTQ+ friends don’t feel othered or tokenized
I imagine, if I had, some friends would have dismissed the behavior, saying the kids meant no harm, which would have felt invalidating. Others may have acted completely bewildered by the story, shocked that this kind of homophobia still exists. Either way, I would have preferred to keep the story to myself. If I had come out to my straight friends back home right away, I know I would have had to tell them. And I know I would have felt tokenized. I imagine they would have accompanied me to a gay bar if I asked them to, but it likely would have meant tolerating some invasive questions and assumptions while I was figuring out my sexuality. The only time I’ve really felt tokenized is when I bumped into a straight friend who was celebrating a 40th birthday in a gay bar.
130
corkpride.com
#CorkPride2025
131
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker