Pretty in pink

I went out for a quick pint in town last night with an old friend, wearing my very best pink Adidas trainers. As I reached the pub, I bumped into a dear friend who was with someone I know a little bit. Anyway, we exchanged a few pleasantries, after which I was asked by the person I know a little bit, “Are you going Old Market later?” I smiled politely, but I knew exactly what it was: casual homophobia. Old Market is known as Bristol’s ‘gay village’.

I have been here before with these pink trainers, which I truly adore and had to buy as soon as I saw them. I wore them out for the first time and an acquaintance said, “You’ve got some neck wearing those!” I thought I knew what he was saying, but did I? Did he mean that I was suggesting I was gay by wearing pink? Did he mean I was likely to get my head caved-in by queer bashers, as extreme homophobe goons are called by some? Either way, I was, in his eyes, doing something wrong. To be honest, this sort of behaviour just makes me want to be even more pink.

There are two reasons I often wear pink. One is that I absolutely love the colour and don’t see why I shouldn’t wear a colour I like. Two is that it brings out the provocateur in me. It’s not that I’m hard or macho or anything, it’s just that when I am told, of it it’s implied I shouldn’t do something, my inclination is to do it. If someone thinks I may be gay, then my feeling is that this is their issue, their problem if you like, not mine. My experience is that homophobes, or at least some of them, are more than a little bit insecure about their own sexuality. I am not the least insecure about mine, thank you very much, and if I want to wear pink, then I will.