EXCLUSIVE JILLIAN MICHAELS: Why I, a gay woman, can't celebrate Pride Month now that it's been hijacked by leather daddies, drag shows and corporate stunts

Daily Mail​

12 hours ago

I've never been 'proud' to be gay.
Despite being openly gay, happily married, a parent, a public figure. The truth is, I'm proud of my accomplishments. The things I fought for. My career. My family. My grit. Not the things I am by default.
Being gay isn't a merit badge — it's a fact of my existence. And that's why I've always had a complicated relationship with Pride Month.
When I was a teenager in the '90s, being gay meant living with shame, not pride. It meant keeping your truth under wraps to avoid being bullied, rejected, or worse. Back then, gay rights weren't just limited, they were almost nonexistent.
We couldn't marry. We couldn't adopt. Most of the country still associated us with AIDS. You were a punchline at best, a pervert at worst.
Being gay wasn't cool — it was dangerous.
So yes, I understand how Pride started. I understand why it mattered. The original Pride wasn't a party, it was a protest. It grew out of the Stonewall Uprising in 1969, when brave gay men and women finally said, 'Enough.'
They fought back against brutality, against invisibility, against erasure. Pride parades became a vehicle for visibility, a way to commemorate those lost to hatred, disease, and silence. It was defiance in the face of rejection. It was necessary.
But that was then. This is now.
Today, gay people can marry. Adopt. Run for office. We have legal protections and public support that would have been unthinkable when I came out. Many LGBTQ individuals are not just tolerated, they are embraced, celebrated, and platformed. In some circles, they are practically untouchable.
And still, Pride Month has ballooned into a 30-day spectacle that now feels less about unity and more about domination — cultural, corporate, and political.
Let's be honest. This isn't 1992 anymore. We're not fighting for survival. We're fighting for relevance — and it shows.
Pride Month today has become a lightning rod, not because gay people are asking to be treated equally, but because the month has become synonymous with shock value, sexual exhibitionism, and corporate hypocrisy.
We've all seen the footage. Leather daddies in assless chaps simulating sex acts in public. Drag queens twerking in thongs in front of children. Parades that look more like adult fetish conventions than civil rights celebrations.
I'm all for sexual liberation, but not on a sidewalk in broad daylight with families in the crowd. Keep your kink — straight or gay — in private where it belongs.
We're told Pride is about 'inclusion,' but increasingly it feels like a middle finger to anyone who doesn't co-sign every fringe performance or ideology. If you so much as raise an eyebrow at what's happening on your city's main street, you're labeled a bigot, even if you're gay yourself.
You don't have to be a conservative Christian mom to think that maybe the Pride movement has lost the plot.
What's worse, Pride has become corporatized to hell.
Every June, major brands roll out rainbow flags like seasonal decor. You can't walk through a Target without being bombarded by LGBTQ-themed merch — not just for adults, but now for toddlers and babies, too. Meanwhile, some of these same companies have no problem doing business in countries where homosexuality is punishable by death.
It's not activism. It's marketing – and it's insulting.
Even the most well-intentioned people, those who once marched beside us for equal rights, are starting to feel alienated. I don't blame them. They didn't fight for this so that kids could be exposed to sexually explicit performances at public libraries or pride parades that make Mardi Gras look modest. They fought for fairness and dignity.
We say Pride is about belonging, but today it often looks more like tribalism, where every dissenting voice, even from within the community, is vilified. And ironically, it's made Pride more divisive than ever.
Instead of inviting people in, we're pushing them out. Instead of celebrating how far we've come, we're flaunting how little we care about what anyone thinks, even if it undermines our own cause.
And all of this is happening at a time when we're supposed to be united.
Let's put this into perspective. We honor our fallen soldiers for one day: Memorial Day. Meanwhile, Pride gets a month — filled with parades, corporate takeovers, and media coverage wall-to-wall.
This year half the country raged that celebrating our army's 250 birthday and honoring wounded warriors and gold star families was authoritarian. But nobody batted an eye at rainbow flags flying from government buildings for all of June.
This isn't equality. It's imbalance – and imbalance breeds resentment.
Maybe it's time for a reset.
What if Pride wasn't 30 days of identity politics, but one powerful day of shared humanity?
A day of gratitude for how far we've come, and a reminder to lead with empathy, not ego. A celebration not of sexual orientation, but of freedom. A day where we invite everyone — gay, straight, confused, whatever — to come together not in protest, but in unity.
Because here's what most people don't realize: We're not that different. We all love our families. We want health, peace, safety, and a shot at a decent life. That's not gay or straight. That's human. So let's stop building walls out of rainbows and start building bridges.
Real pride doesn't need a stage, a sponsor, or a spotlight. It doesn't demand applause. It is lived — quietly, confidently, unapologetically.
Every single day.