When I set out to cover the 37th Annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade, there was one key question on my mind; could the event be considered an LGBTQ pride event?
It’s tempting to point out that the parade takes place in June, the month now designated as Pride Month. However, when one looks into the history of the event, it seems that the timing is little more than a coincidence. The parade was created as a celebration of the arrival of summer, and thus was scheduled to take place close to June 21, the Summer Solstice. Furthermore, the first Mermaid Parade was in 1983, 16 years before then-President Bill Clinton declared June “Gay & Lesbian Pride Month”.
On the other hand, the Parade does have a reputation for being LGBTQ-friendly, due to its whimsical atmosphere and encouragement of unfiltered self-expression. This wouldn’t be my first time attending the event, but it would be the first time since I came out as bisexual earlier this year. I suspected that my new identity would affect my experience.
My suspicion intensified when I got out of the subway station, and I saw a man selling pride flags and bandanas. I bought a bandana, only to realize seconds afterward that I have no idea how to tie one. After a few unsuccessful attempts to tie it around my neck, I just wrapped it around my wrist and waited for my friends to meet me outside…
…for about an hour. All three of the people I was waiting for were notoriously pokey, so I suppose I should have expected that. On the positive side, it gave me ample time to wander around, get a lay of the land and take pictures.
While I was waiting, I happened upon some evangelical Christian protesters who were rallying against the alleged sinfulness of the event. I wasn’t surprised, but I was a bit curious; on the surface, the Mermaid Parade was just an art festival where people could dress up as sea creatures. What was un-Christian about that?
“I have a wise suggestion for you,” he said. “Get right with God. Get right with the living God. God does not want you living this way, in the way of the heathens. The way of the pagans.”
I wasn’t interested in arguing, so I just left it at that and walked away. I came across a shirtless man who was giving out free hugs, and I immediately obliged. Lord knows I needed one after that.
Shortly afterwards, my friends showed up – Trent and Becky (a straight couple), and Blanche (a drag queen). Blanche, it seemed, was already in the spirit of things, sporting what looked like a raven’s wings painted on her face. Trent and Becky, by comparison, looked far more “vanilla”, but were happy to be there nonetheless. It took a bit of time for us to navigate our way through the crowd and find a spot where we could actually see the parade, but once we did, the rest of the afternoon went smoothly.
The costumes sported by the performers, as expected, were loud, extravagant, and most of all, diverse, running the gamut from mermaids in clamshell bras to shirtless King Neptunes to full-bodied foam shark suits. I saw one man in the parade who was just content to coat himself in blue body paint, resting atop a throne carried by three other paraders.
Blanche, a close friend of mine, often liked to make a point of encouraging me to come out of my shell and stray from my comfort zone; if not for her, I don’t know if I ever would have had the courage to come out as bi. I was emboldened with her by my side, and I certainly came out of my shell. I had glitter painted on my face, and I wasn’t shy about hitting on handsome men, of which there were plenty. I called one guy “cute as hell” after snapping his picture; he blushed and giggled.
In more ways than one, this was a new experience for me. The other years I had gone to the Mermaid Parade, I felt like I was on the outside looking in, admiring all of the extravagant flamboyant costumes from a distance. But now? I was in. With my embroidered face and the pride flag wrapped around my wrist, I was announcing to the world that I was here, I was queer, and I was ready to flaunt it.
At one point when we were strolling down the boardwalk, Blanche looked over at me and made the following remark: “You look comfortable.” And I was. Even though I wasn’t in costume, I felt at home among the eccentric mermaids and mermen strutting their stuff. The costumed paraders, the people I used to perceive as a “them”, were now an “us”. These were my people.
We happened upon one of the performers from the parade on the way back to the subway, so we stopped to snap a couple of pictures. Right as we were finishing up, an older gentleman approached us – perhaps because he wanted to get in the picture, but I wasn’t sure. Blanche was taken aback by his sudden approach, so she flinched.
“Why are you scared?!” he demanded, glaring at her. Uh oh. I froze up, hoping that the encounter wouldn’t turn ugly. However, a moment later, the gentleman broke out into a laugh.
“It’s the Mermaid Parade!” he said. “If anyone has a problem with you, they can toss my salad!”
And whether he knew it or not, he provided me with the perfect way to cap off my story. He succinctly summed up why the Mermaid Parade is, in fact, a pride celebration – not explicitly, but in spirit. It creates an environment where nobody has to fear being judged for who they are- where even a guy in nothing but shorts and blue body paint can be hailed as the parade GOAT, and rightfully so. If that isn’t pride, I don’t know what is.
