Tag: pride

  • ‘¡Afuera!’: Historical Queer Publications Showcased at LA Art Book Fair

    ‘¡Afuera!’: Historical Queer Publications Showcased at LA Art Book Fair

    The Queerest attended Printed Matter’s exhibition ‘¡Afuera!: Publishing Queer Liberation’ at its 13th annual LA Art Book Fair, which took place from May 7 to 10, 2026, at ArtCenter College of Design in Pasadena, California.

    ¡Afuera! marked the debut L.A. exhibition of several historical publications and print ephemera published in the 1960s and 1970s by members of three radical coalitions: New York’s Gay Liberation Front (GLF) and Third World Gay Revolution (TWGR), and Argentina’s Frente de Liberación Homosexual of Argentina (FLH). The exhibition’s rare posters, flyers, newsletters, and magazines shed light on the organizing and publishing efforts of a network of determined social, political, and cultural activists of the era. 

    ¡Afuera! highlights the work of graphic artist Juan Carlos Vidal and poet-photographer Néstor Latrónico, gay activists who emigrated from Argentina to New York City in 1968 to find a new community. Vidal and  Latrónico collaborated on illustration and graphic design for the GLF’s newspaper, Come Out!, and for the FLH’s publication Afuera and its bulletin Somos. Examples of their publications, including all issues of Somos and a mock-up cover of Come Out!, were on display. 

    Vidal and Latrónico used visually striking, often colorful publications to draw attention to their queer activism and their messages of intersectional liberation, anti-imperialism, and anti-capitalism. The exhibition highlights the role that artist- and community-run printing projects played in sharing resources and information among queer activists in a pre-Internet age.

    Original cover mock-up of Come Out! Issue 8, Winter 1972, published by the Gay Liberation Front of New York. Courtesy Archivos Desviados.

    The exhibition is drawn from the New York-based collection of Archivos Desviados, which was created by Argentinian-born archivist Juan Queiroz in 2019. The ongoing, independent archive preserves thousands of historical documents from queer movements. 

    Learn more at printedmatter.org/afuera, and follow Archivos Desviados on Instagram @archivosdesviados.

  • A Place for Kink at Pride

    A Place for Kink at Pride

    Every year during Pride month, there is a surge of negative reactions online (and in person) regarding who Pride is for and to what degree. This is particularly salient for kink at Pride. Posts and news stories routinely question why kink is even at Pride. Just a sampling of kink-related Pride posts I found on Instagram offered such original comments as: 

    “Freaks.” 

    “Kink gear in a public area around minors is weird though am i too woke r sum”

    “Keep it in your home.” 

    This type of reaction is unsurprising. Virtually anything furry, kinky, or fetish-adjacent has become increasingly scrutinized amongst the LGBTQ+ community. However, this raises a question that frequently emerges in June as Pride (at least in the United States) becomes more of a focal point: Who belongs at Pride? 

    As celebrations, parades, and parties kick into high gear to celebrate all aspects of the LGBTQ+ community throughout the month, the kink community is a recurring, easy target. 

    While I am not the definitive voice in the matter by any means, the answer seems obvious to me, of course, kink belongs at Pride. Pride is for all within the LGBTQ+ community, and, surprise, surprise, there are a great number of us who also have kinks or fetishes. Additionally, there’s an exhaustive history within the LGBTQ+ community that directly addresses kinks and fetishes; there are artistic influences that go back centuries; there’s cultural heritage, and a celebration of an individual’s sexual orientation and sexual identity could be easily connected to sexual interests.  

    The question of kink’s place at Pride almost becomes a boring one. For most within the LGBTQ+ community (myself included), we are at least aware of the histories of our community more so than those on the periphery of the community. Even the most supportive of allies may draw a blank if questioned about Tom of Finland, Saint Sebastian, or Saint Andrew and his cross. 

    There will always be outrage about displays at Pride events, regardless of whether kink is there or not. A completely “vanilla” Pride event would still be derided by those with preconceived notions and deeply embedded homophobia. If someone already has a distrust or negative view of anything even remotely queer-related, they will find a means to continue advocating for that hate. Suppressing displays of kink, then, in an attempt at appeasement, is a fruitless and even regressive endeavor.       

    But what about individuals who are enthusiastic about Pride, allyship, or who may be in the LGBTQ+ community itself, but are uninterested in or even disturbed by kink? Shouldn’t we, as a welcoming community, then at least accommodate those who would otherwise be open but could be uncomfortable seeing, say, a rubber gimp or a leather daddy? 

    (Insert The Simpsons, “Won’t someone please think of the children?”) 

    Or worse! The corporate sponsors! After all, we cannot have a pup on all fours in front of a Raytheon float.  

    The point of Pride is not to make everyone completely comfortable. It never will be, nor ever should be. Pride’s origins as a political movement in the 1960s and 70s—alongside Stonewall, “Gay is Good,” and the Christopher Street Liberation Day—were to equate living one’s authentic self without shame. That act may itself make people—particularly outsiders of the community—uncomfortable. 

    As a commemoration of the first Stonewall Riot, “Pride” as a term was coined by L. Craig Schoonmaker as a means to counteract the immense social shame directed at the LGBTQ+ community. Schoonmaker said, “The poison was shame, and the antidote [was] pride.” At the time, people were “very repressed, they were conflicted internally and didn’t know how to come out and be proud. That’s how the movement was most useful, because they thought, ‘Maybe I should be proud’”

    Isn’t then the truest essence of Pride being able to showcase one’s kink and fetish interests without the often-internal conflict associated with enjoying them? 

    Many kinks are still derided and ridiculed today, even by members of the LGBTQ+ community. It can be easy to point and mock kinks and individuals who engage in them. Look at the reaction to former Department of Homeland Security Advisor Kristi Noem’s husband, Bryon, and the revelation of his “bimboification” kink. This is a type of role-playing in which someone pretends to be a stereotypical bimbo or Barbie doll. The ridicule can focus on the hypocrisy associated with the Noems and their rampant animosity towards the LGBTQ+ community (particularly the trans community), but shouldn’t be towards the kink itself. But that level of nuance in discussion is often ignored.

    This can then lead many (arguably most) people to keep their own kink and fetish interests fiercely private, to avoid ridicule or ostracization. This itself can have a ripple effect, as these individuals remain unaware of how many others share those interests and how safe it can be to explore between consenting adults. From bondage to gear to roleplaying, there’s no shortage of kinks for everyone interested. But many do not believe they can or should engage in these. Where else but at a Pride celebration could one in this situation learn more about kinks and meet those who could illuminate them? 

    As for the ‘keep it to the bedroom’ argument with kink, Pride provides safety in numbers. Many people just starting to dip their toes into kink could risk physical or emotional harm with someone else who may lack proper knowledge or expertise in some kinks, such as bondage or impact play, in an isolated setting. Demonstrations, educational courses, and communal settings serve as ideal places to ask questions, engage, be curious, and reduce taboos. In today’s often reactionary world, Pride can be one of the few genuine opportunities people have for this. 

      Individuals who have the chance to showcase kinks and genuine interest or curiosity at Pride can learn a great deal about themselves, too, and become all the more personally courageous and introspective as a result. 

    On a personal note, after a few years of skipping Pride celebrations, in 2022, I returned to Pride celebrations, given that a former high school classmate of mine had been arrested as part of a thwarted white supremacist riot at an Idaho-based Pride celebration. I had known him for years, had gone to lunches with him with classmates and other friends, and was shocked and horrified to see this white nationalist turn and vitriol towards Pride. 

    So, I got a rubber tank top, some splashy pants, and even some impressive leather boots, and strutted my stuff at Denver Pride. If for nothing else than to show, this was a hell of a lot better look than whatever lame tough guy cosplay these hate-mongers would ever hope to wear. But in a more real sense, I did it because I wanted to be proud of who I was and could be. That is the core of Pride’s existence. No matter what hate, ridicule, or mockery countless others may throw, Pride should be a beacon of hope for self-expression.  

  • No Longer a Tourist in San Francisco

    No Longer a Tourist in San Francisco

    Since moving to Los Angeles, I’ve clocked in countless hours on the 5 making the drive to San Francisco. But despite the frequency of these visits, it wasn’t until recently that I actually started to enjoy the city. Growing up in San Rafael, San Francisco was a 30-minute drive away. Once or twice a year, my dad would drive the family to Ghirardelli Square or Fisherman’s Wharf. As I got older, the charm wore off, especially when I was the one driving. Los Angeles has its share of terrible traffic and nonexistent parking, but at least you don’t have to endure such steep hills and winding streets!

    After I moved to LA, I made my way back home twice a year to visit my dad, sister, and high school friends. A couple years later–during a two-week visit–I decided to go on a handful of dates. At the time, I had very low confidence in my gender fluidity and often kept it a secret. To my surprise, however, these people were so accepting, I immediately felt safe enough to share my pronouns and identity. While one or two of the dates didn’t lead to anything, the majority resulted in long term friendships! I started to discover a version of San Francisco that I hadn’t been exposed to before: a queer version. 

    The amount of my friends in the city grew and grew, as did the frequency of my trips. I would spend weeks in advance planning who I was going to see and whose couch I was going to stay on, and on June 21, 2023, I headed north once again to celebrate SF Pride. 

    While the Pride Parade wasn’t until Sunday, the celebration started that Friday night. I stayed in the East Bay with a friend who drove us out to SoMA, starting out at the Hole in the Wall Saloon, a bar many of the earlier mentioned dates were at. You would be hard-pressed to find an empty space on the walls and ceilings here. Every inch is covered by stickers, chains, wheels, lights, records… the list goes on. The bartender that night was friendly, excited that I was from LA. He was from Orange County and “left for a reason.” –I didn’t ask. The bar’s tight quarters couldn’t help but make it intimate. A lot of the bars in this strip feel like that and draw out the same crowds. I always run into someone I know.

    On Saturday, I went to a party at a high school friend’s apartment in the Richmond District, spending time with old and new friends alike before venturing into the Castro for the first time. It was freezing outside but thankfully a lot of heat generated from the bodies crowding tightly together in line for the clubs. My friend and I waited outside of 440 Castro, apparently well-known for selling beer for just three dollars. We weren’t dressed very colorfully, so I applied glitter to my face, then to his… and then to the couple standing in front of us.

    Once we finally entered, it was nearly impossible to walk. Packed to the brim, we somehow made our way to the back of the bar where they indeed sold beer for just three dollars! We said goodbye to our new acquaintances and bolted for the exit to breathe, finishing our drinks on the outside patio before walking around the other bars and shops.

    Sunday morning arrived at last and we woke up early to drive to the city. Much to our relief, we spotted parking right away and headed for the Embarcadero where the parade would start. There we met and joined a group of familiar faces from Thursday night. The day was extremely sunny and relentlessly hot, though only for short intervals. The wind would pick up consistently enough that I began regretting the short shorts I was wearing. 

    Huddling close together for warmth, we watched the parade go by: a city taken over by the queer community: drag queens, performers, and activists marching with the most colorful and unique signs, banners and flags. Flags for Gay pride, Lesbian Pride, Pansexual pride, Transgender pride, Two-Spirit pride, and POC pride. Allyship pride, Bear pride, Leather Pride, Furry pride…  Any sub-community you could imagine was here and proud. And the crowd clapped and cheered for all of them.

    We followed the parade to the Civic Center where we were rejected from entering because security said our backpacks were too big. So we headed for the bars again. The wind finally seemed to relent, the heat showering down at last. As I sipped on a rum and coke, laughing with friends in the bar’s courtyard, I had a serene moment of reflection and bliss, taking in the warmth of those around me and how special it felt to be surrounded by such love and openness. So much freedom of expression and diversity. I had been a tourist before. And despite no longer living there, I had never felt more at home with familiar faces in every corner. This was the San Francisco I loved.