Last Sunday I was lucky enough to be invited to join the British Consulate General’s party at LA Pride. We marched through West Hollywood in front of an old red Routemaster bus – the number 98, which usually starts its journey in not-so-glamorous Willesden, north-west London.
We may have had the worst Spice Girls tribute band ever dancing with us, but the Yanks loved it.
It marked the event’s 45th anniversary. When it started back in 1970, coming out as a gay man would have been tough. Saying you’re a lesbian would have been met with huge disapproval. Being transgender? That would have been pretty much impossible.
As I waited to march on to Santa Monica Boulevard, I noticed a truck next to me. It belonged to TGirl Nights, an LA club for transgender women.
It looked quite the spectacle. Six women – formerly men, of course – dressed in skimpy lingerie, one even minus a bra, taking selfies, dancing to loud music and determined to get their message out there.
One, who was rather attractive, was snogging her boyfriend. He was quite fit too.
Some would have found it uncomfortable. Maybe a few months ago I would have done. But these women didn’t care, not one jot. At one time they may have lived in fear of having to admit they weren’t happy with their gender – that they desperately didn’t want to be men – but you would never have known it.
That’s because Hollywood is so advanced, the town where anything goes. Celebrities including James Corden and Channing Tatum joined in the festivities too.
You didn’t have to be LGBT to be there. You just had to be accepting and realise people are different.
LA does that better than anywhere else. So it isn’t just that bus that’s lucky to be in Hollywood. I am too.
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