Contrarian: Leave the Leather Bike Shorts at Home

There was a time when such in-your-faceness served a purpose: These displays were not only valid but necessary, political polemics dressed in feathers, sequins and leather. But today, it all feels tired and  a little embarrassing, like the crazy cousin who comes to Thanksgiving dinner in tie-dye and Birkenstocks because he just can’t let the ’60s go.

We blared, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it.” Guess what: They’re used to it. My friend Jenny, a hip suburban soccer mom, once told me she would love to take her two girls to watch a gay pride parade. But, she said sadly, “I just can’t expose them to all of that.” Which doesn’t make her a homophobe — it makes her a mom. And by now, we should have advanced to a point where people aren’t afraid to bring their kids to our parades.

A few weeks ago, I went to a baby shower for my friends Jim and Paul, who just adopted a little girl. Twenty men sat in a room and watched as the proud papas opened up baby blankets and onesies, and listened to stories of 2 a.m. feedings and how to properly warm milk. My friend Dave and his boyfriend were there, talking about work they were having done to their house and a company trip they were about to take. Two years ago, Dave came out at work and got … a shrug.

As I watched the cooing over and ogling of Jim and Paul’s daughter, it struck me that this is the next chapter toward gay equality in this country, and its soundtrack is not sung by Cher.

We’re here. We’re queer. We’re moving into your cul-de-sac, we’re buying groceries at your Shop n Bag, and we’re heading off for work in the morning in our suits.

Get used to it.