Mardi Gras: The full spectrum of the wonderful LGBTI rainbow on display.
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The days of protests against Mardi Gras are, thankfully, well in the past. However, the political consensus around LGBTI issues remains fragile. Depending on the outcome of this year’s election, Australia may be about to enter into a divisive and unnecessary plebiscite on marriage equality, which will bring with it an ugly campaign against any change. We have already had a taste of the campaign to come with the recent attacks by conservative politicians and their News Limited acolytes on the Safe Schools anti-bullying program.
The fact remains though, that I can tick ‘walking down Oxford Street shirtless in a pair of ruby slippers’ off my bucket list. While it may be tempting for readers to think that this is a typical weekend for me, I can assure you it is not. However, I did have just this experience early this year at the annual Sydney, Australia, Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.
This was my fourth Mardi Gras, and every year I basically aim to get skankier, so I’m not really sure what I will be doing next year. Over the past couple of years, I’ve settled into a routine leading up to the big day that follows the bingeing and partying of the silly season (and believe me, I quite like to indulge). The return to work in January brings with it a realisation that not only will I be stuck in the drudgery of full time work for the rest of my life (have you seen house prices in Sydney?), but also that Mardi Gras is coming so the gym is about to become my new home, and I’m going to be well sick of tuna, eggs, chicken breast and veggies in a few months time.
I keep a reasonably good diet and exercise regime as it is (I like to joke that it’s part of being a gay man in Sydney. Although the truth is it’s actually really good for me and I feel a lot worse than normal when I let it slip) but Mardi Gras season takes it to a whole new level – more gym visits, more sets, more cardio. That alarm going off at 6am is really the worst part of the day. If it’s not, the day must have been a real shocker.
A few weeks out from the parade, I went shopping for Mardi Gras outfits with a fellow man (who identifies as gay) on Oxford Street, which is an occasion I really look forward to. I ended up going skankier than I had really thought I would – the red hotpants (fabric with sequin trim) were a given, but calling the other part of the outfit a “top” is really stretching it. It is essentially a shoulder pad that stretches down to cover the bicep and then has a strap across the chest to keep it in place. It is also red. Oh, and it is bejewelled. The man in the shop where I purchased it told me how he spent hours sewing the rhinestones on. Truly fabulous. There was also a wonderful moment when I tried it on and the shop assistant had to get a larger size and my bicep was bigger than he realised (#results).
As great as this outfit was, I also had a sinking feeling that my body at that stage wasn’t quite up to it. I had 3 weeks until the big day, so I had to up the cardio and reduce the amount I was eating. It was tough – I actually felt like I was going to faint a few times as I had so little energy. But by the time Mardi Gras came around (and this is just a bit of a brag) I looked fucking amazing. In all seriousness, I had abs for the first time ever (though to be honest, they disappeared pretty quickly afterwards). To counter my ghost-like pale skin (I’m a redhead, it comes with the turf) I got my first spray tan which, in the immortal words of Kimberley Craig nee Day, made me look “a hundred bucks”.
On top of my personal preparation/vanity, I was also taking the lead in organising the parade float for Rainbow Labor. This was a hell of a lot of work, but I was helped by a bunch of people who had done it before and it all came together on the day, following a number of sleepless nights and panic attacks on my part. The whole thing looked brilliant and I couldn’t be more pleased or more proud with how it came off, (the float, not my shirt).
The biggest downside of the evening for me was that I hadn’t properly worn in the ruby slippers (complete with quite big heels) that I bought for the occasion. This meant my feet were pretty well caned by the time we got to the end of the parade route. There’s a great photo of me at the end of the parade carrying my heels like a trash-bag leaving Flemington Racecourse on Oaks Day, proving that I am indeed all class.
It’s easy after reading something like all of this to dismiss Mardi Gras as a bit of frivolity, and that people like me put way too much effort into shredding/getting ripped/starving ourselves and so on, thus encouraging the unrealistic body culture and body-shaming that goes on amongst gay men. Like most things, there is a kernel of truth running through this, but it misses the point.
The beauty of Mardi Gras is that the full spectrum of the wonderful LGBTI rainbow is on display – the diversity of the community is there for everyone to see, and the pre-parade marshalling area in Hyde Park is one of the greatest environments I have ever been a part of. The atmosphere is joyous, celebratory and electric. As well as the (many) boys who have slaved away at the gym for weeks, there are the inspiring 78ers from the first Mardi Gras, there are sporting groups, community groups, families, fabulous costumes, dancers, couples, singles, celebrities, politicians, and everyone in between. Whether it is your first Mardi Gras or your thirtieth, everyone there experiences the same feeling of freedom, inclusion and acceptance.
Mardi Gras has undoubtedly changed over the years, but this reflects the changing nature of society itself – as the rights and acceptance of the LGBTI community continue to march forward in society, the party atmosphere of events like Mardi Gras will inexorably rise while the political slant dampens somewhat. But don’t be fooled by all of the glitter and the sequins – the message is as important as ever, the message is clear, and we will never stop marching.
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Photos courtesy of the author.
All the hate filled comments around marriage equality have triggered intense traumatic emotions from my adolescence. Where for three years I was subject to extreme homophobic abuse at the Catholic High School I attended. Abuse that was encouraged by the sadistic principal, a Catholic priest, who believed that my homosexuality was because I was ‘weak minded’ and that I would be toughened up by having my peers beat the fag out of me. I had a complete nervous breakdown because of that extreme homophobic abuse. It took me 10 years before I could even face the world again. Turnbull’s marriage… Read more »