Requiem of A Rainbow: Normal Gays and Lesbians Just Killed Pride Month

This Year, Pride Month Seems To Have Died, and It May Have Been Traditional Gays and Lesbians Who Delivered The Killing Blow

Everyone remembers the time, not long ago, when the arrival of June meant a not-so metaphorical glitter-bomb straight to the face. Corporate logos sprouted rainbows like weeds, drag queens began their annual migratory patterns, and social media was more performative than an autistic theater kid off their Adderall. The entire ordeal was overdone, unrestrained, manic in it’s display, and exhausting in its demand for attention. Pride Month is usually an omnipresent, omnivorous, rainbow-clad juggernaut barreling through America. But this year was different. Did you feel it?

This year, Pride didn’t roar. In fact, it barely purred. The shift was palpable among both the straight and gay communities alike. You could still clock some rainbow decor in the local Starbucks, or a flight attendant with far too many vest pins handing out drinks with a side of sass. But something was missing. As the kids would say, Pride was lowkey lagging this year.

What once felt like a big gay baptism was more like a light mist. The sparkly euphoria, the high-volume, high-octane spectacle that took over entire cities, media cycles, and your social media timeline… was noticeably absent. The lady-boy TikToks were fewer. The rainbow cash grab was restrained. Even Target—bless their gender-dysphoric heart—tucked their Pride collection into back corners like it was behind on rent. No Trannies flashing their recently purchased implants on the White House lawn. No female impersonator interviewing the President. Just a few clips of overenthusiastic Pride-goers falling off their floats.

What happened? Where did it all go? Like most things after a few years in the mainstream: it fizzled. Or more accurately—it got hijacked, it got weird, and then it got old. This year’s Pride wasn’t killed by bigotry, boycotts, or some fiery religious backlash. Pride was ghosted by its own founders. Traditional Gays and Lesbians—the actual community—have, for the most part, left it behind.

Why? Disillusioned, exhausted, and embarrassed Gay Men have long since tapped out. Somewhere between the move to Trans Children and transexuals demanding everyone be willing to sleep with them, all the regular gays just… gave up. Pride was no longer about becoming part of society, it was about reforming society. Thats not what we signed up for.

And the Lesbians? God bless ‘em. For years they’ve been told, sometimes gently, sometimes with the blunt force of an online mob, that their female-only attraction is transphobic, their feminism problematic, and their existence an expression of the patriarchy. Women’s spaces, and therefore Lesbians spaces, have been eroded, renamed, and repurposed into something unrecognizable. They were the first casualties in the ideological turf war that took over Pride, and they’ve responded with the oldest move in the Lesbian playbook: moving out. They're growing tomatoes, fostering puppies, and vibing peacefully to bluegrass under a blanket, somewhere far away from the chaos. And honestly? Take us with you.

Now Pride is left primarily in the control of those who long ago colonized our Gay Bars: straight white women. Armed with sundresses, oat milk, unearned confidence, and their Stanley cups, they descend each June like suburban Valkyries, eager to sip their $10 Starbucks in a "Love Wins" tumbler while posting pastel-filtered selfies from drag brunch. Pride has become a religious alternative for women who either had children too young or never will. It’s less about social justice and more about social clout, a secular litmus test for the culturally devout. Pride has become Burning Man for people seeking a cause to champion, at least until July.

When actual gays start half-joking about signing up for conversion therapy just to escape the cringe, you know things have gone well and truly off the rails. It’s gallows humor, sure—but it comes from a place of real fatigue. What used to be a bold, defiant celebration of self-worth and mutual respect has been hijacked by a chorus of identity-obsessed grievance merchants, each competing to out-trauma the next. Pride, once about dignity and solidarity, now resembles a performance art protest where the loudest, most offended voices get top billing. So don’t be surprised when the Gays—the ones who once fought tooth and nail for acceptance—quietly slip out the back door, rolling their eyes on the way. They’re not abandoning who they are; they’re just done being props in someone else’s tantrum.

So, here’s to the end of an era. Maybe 2025 won’t be the official death of Pride, but let’s be honest—it was definitely the detox. The sugar high wore off. The excess caught up with itself. The glitter-streaked hangover finally hit. Somewhere between corporate virtue signals, over-the-top pageantry, and endless TikTok activism, the soul of the thing got lost. Pride stopped feeling proud and started feeling performative—like an annual subscription to outrage culture with a side of rainbow capitalism.

Take it back to basics. Have yourselves a weekend, like the good old days. Not a month, not a corporate fiscal quarter. A nice Saturday afternoon. A day to remember your personal struggle or whatever, celebrate your wins, laugh, dance, and breathe in the joy of being a big ole’ homo—without needing a hashtag, a desperate politician, or a brand sponsor to validate it.

Let the gays be gay, the lesbians be lesbian, and the rest of y’all can do whatever the hell it is y’all do. Just do it far away from us.

This piece is Part III in our series Titled “Ashamed of Pride”. You can read the previous installments here:

Part I: Ashamed of Pride

Part II: 50 Shades of Gay