Latest news with #gayman
The Guardian
15-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
The one change that worked: I was such a fussy eater, it limited me – now I try one new dish a week to reduce my food fear
I've always been a fussy eater. As a child, I ruined many family dinners because my overly particular palate meant I would simply refuse to eat a range of dishes. Certain ingredients would make me heave and throw tantrums. My brothers loved lasagne, but it rarely made the dinner table as I couldn't stand cheese, and bechamel triggered a phobia of white sauces (mayonnaise is my No 1 hate). And don't even think about making tuna sandwiches around me: the smell alone would make me burst into tears. I often joke that being a fussy eater has made me feel more like a second-class citizen in this country than my blackness or my sexuality as a gay man. And I'm only being half unserious. Fussy eaters are often derided, belittled for only enjoying chicken tenders and fries, with questions about why we can't just 'grow up' and get over our aversion to certain foods. The truth is my fussy eating does not mean that I am unadventurous. I am of Nigerian heritage after all, and I grew up eating and loving a range of dishes – abula, efo riro, bokoto – that would probably flip the stomachs of many Europeans on sight. What has caused me the most anguish are the most ordinary ingredients that others wouldn't give a second thought to: nuts, which have invaded too many desserts, beans, peas, corn, cheese, oats, tuna, brown bread. I find the texture of a lot of these foods intolerable. But I eventually grew tired of my own fussiness, of precluding myself from certain food experiences simply because one ingredient threw me off, and I would be too shy to ask for it to be taken off (I was once laughed at by a server for asking for a Mayo Chicken with no mayo at McDonald's, and it traumatised me). So, I resolved to do something small: every week, I decided to buy one thing that contains an ingredient I am averse to and I eat as much of it as I can stomach. It started when I ordered a focaccia sandwich with merguez sausages at my local brunch spot, just to find that it contained toum – the dreaded white sauce. But I willed myself to just try it, after Googling that it was made from an emulsion of garlic instead of eggs (I actually enjoy eggs, just not when they are perverted into a vile sauce). And it was delicious. I found myself licking the sauce off my fingers. But there have been mixed results. I hated nuts in desserts but then discovered the syrupy joy of baklava. Oat flapjacks and Hobnob biscuits, however, were horrible. I tried a burrito with black beans and spat it out, but found the soya beans in a chilli oil I've started putting on rice delicious. I had a lovely pasta dish at Canteen in Notting Hill, west London, and found the grated parmesan aromatic and pleasant, but I couldn't tolerate the feta in a salad I bought from Sainsbury's. I recently braved the evil mayonnaise, and heaved so violently that I thought I was dying – in my nightmares, I can still taste it. But, hey, at least, as a 28-year-old man, I can finally say that I'm trying. And while I won't be attempting mayonnaise again, I'm pleased that I can now see these dislikes as a matter of taste, rather than something that inspires fear and panic as it did when I was a child. I can still be a bit pathetic and sulky about food, but there are no more tears. Jason Okundaye edits the Long Wave, the Guardian's weekly Black life and culture newsletter. His book, Revolutionary Acts: Love & Brotherhood in Black Gay Britain, is out now in paperback. To support the Guardian, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply
The Guardian
14-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
The one change that worked: I was such a fussy eater, it limited me – now I try one new dish a week to reduce my food fear
I've always been a fussy eater. As a child, I ruined many family dinners because my overly particular palate meant I would simply refuse to eat a range of dishes. Certain ingredients would make me heave and throw tantrums. My brothers loved lasagne, but it rarely made the dinner table as I couldn't stand cheese, and bechamel triggered a phobia of white sauces (mayonnaise is my No 1 hate). And don't even think about making tuna sandwiches around me: the smell alone would make me burst into tears. I often joke that being a fussy eater has made me feel more like a second-class citizen in this country than my blackness or my sexuality as a gay man. And I'm only being half unserious. Fussy eaters are often derided, belittled for only enjoying chicken tenders and fries, with questions about why we can't just 'grow up' and get over our aversion to certain foods. The truth is my fussy eating does not mean that I am unadventurous. I am of Nigerian heritage after all, and I grew up eating and loving a range of dishes – abula, efo riro, bokoto – that would probably flip the stomachs of many Europeans on sight. What has caused me the most anguish are the most ordinary ingredients that others wouldn't give a second thought to: nuts, which have invaded too many desserts, beans, peas, corn, cheese, oats, tuna, brown bread. I find the texture of a lot of these foods intolerable. But I eventually grew tired of my own fussiness, of precluding myself from certain food experiences simply because one ingredient threw me off, and I would be too shy to ask for it to be taken off (I was once laughed at by a server for asking for a Mayo Chicken with no mayo at McDonald's, and it traumatised me). So, I resolved to do something small: every week, I decided to buy one thing that contains an ingredient I am averse to and I eat as much of it as I can stomach. It started when I ordered a focaccia sandwich with merguez sausages at my local brunch spot, just to find that it contained toum – the dreaded white sauce. But I willed myself to just try it, after Googling that it was made from an emulsion of garlic instead of eggs (I actually enjoy eggs, just not when they are perverted into a vile sauce). And it was delicious. I found myself licking the sauce off my fingers. But there have been mixed results. I hated nuts in desserts but then discovered the syrupy joy of baklava. Oat flapjacks and Hobnob biscuits, however, were horrible. I tried a burrito with black beans and spat it out, but found the soya beans in a chilli oil I've started putting on rice delicious. I had a lovely pasta dish at Canteen in Notting Hill, west London, and found the grated parmesan aromatic and pleasant, but I couldn't tolerate the feta in a salad I bought from Sainsbury's. I recently braved the evil mayonnaise, and heaved so violently that I thought I was dying – in my nightmares, I can still taste it. But, hey, at least, as a 28-year-old man, I can finally say that I'm trying. And while I won't be attempting mayonnaise again, I'm pleased that I can now see these dislikes as a matter of taste, rather than something that inspires fear and panic as it did when I was a child. I can still be a bit pathetic and sulky about food, but there are no more tears. Revolutionary Acts: Love & Brotherhood in Black Gay Britain by Jason Okundaye is out now in paperback. To support the Guardian, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
Entrepreneur
16-06-2025
- Business
- Entrepreneur
Pride in Every Frame — Using Authentic Storytelling to Drive Growth
Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their own. I didn't fully realize I could embrace my identity as a gay man until I discovered the power of storytelling, the power of being real. The realization that people do business with people, not brands, changed everything for me. I spent years filming other people's stories, helping them show the heart behind their business. But I wasn't showing mine and the day I finally did changed how I lead, how I sell and how I'm building a company that reflects who I really am. The story begins with me It started in Long Beach, California. Every Wednesday, I used to film on the beach. It was peaceful, personal and the perfect setting to start something different. I set up a camera and hit record for a "Who Am I" video. Then I filmed an "It Gets Better" video. In the middle of talking about my journey, I nearly cried. That moment showed me how much I had been holding back. Then, it hit me: If I'm going to help brands tell their stories with honesty, I have to start by telling my own. Before that moment, I kept my personal life mostly quiet. When people asked if I had a girlfriend or wife, I'd just smile and move on. I wasn't lying, but I also wasn't correcting them. Why should they care? Why should I? That's what I told myself. But what I've learned over time is that these little silences stack up. They build a wall between who you are and how you lead. So in 2018, I made the decision to show up fully. I filmed a series of "Meet the Team" videos. I talked about my story, my values and who I am beyond the CEO title. For the first time, I brought a boyfriend to the office. It felt like a huge deal. Not because anyone made it one, but because I had never done that before. It was personal, it was powerful and it was the start of my leading with authenticity. If your CEO can be honest about who they are, so can your team. It creates permission and builds trust. Being an LGBTQ+ founder has taught me that people follow real people. It is not about rainbow logos or a DEI checklist, it's about presence. If your CEO can be honest about who they are, so can your team. It creates permission and builds trust. It opens space for everyone else to be just a little more human. At FranchiseFilming, we do not embed inclusion through policies, we embed it through values. I do not hire based on labels, I hire people who are authentic and on time. People who care and who show up. If you are fake or just playing a part, you will not thrive here — that's our culture. Image Credit: Trevor Rappleye One of the moments I felt proudest was at a team quarterly dinner. My fiancé came with me. I looked around the table, watching my team talk, laugh and connect. There was no awkwardness, no performance. Just real people being themselves. That is what leadership looks like. It's quiet, human and real. I have learned that real and rooted kindness is stronger than judgment. That commitment to realness bleeds into how we do storytelling. We do not use scripts or rely on fancy jargon or forced soundbites. We film real people sharing real stories. That is why our content works. It's not flashy, but it's honest. That approach started with me — it had to. You cannot build a business rooted in authenticity if you are still hiding part of yourself, you have to go first. In my career, I have mostly been lucky. I have not faced much backlash in the professional world. But I remember one moment clearly. I was holding hands with my partner at Bubba Gump's in Long Beach. A couple pointed at us and laughed, even took a photo. If I could go back, I would not shrink. I would wave. Smile. Maybe even buy them a shot. I have learned that kindness, real and rooted kindness, is stronger than judgment. And thankfully, those moments are rare. If you are an LGBTQ+ founder, do not wait for permission, you don't need it. Your story is your edge. If you are an LGBTQ+ founder, don't wait for permission, you don't need it. Your story is your edge, your difference is your advantage. It might feel awkward. It might feel weird. But no one else can be you and that is your power. People do not buy what you do, they buy who you are and how you make them feel. They buy the story you tell — so start telling it. Here is a tip: Film your story this week. Hire a crew, or grab a camera and talk to yourself. Ask the hard questions. Talk about the real stuff. Cut it into a two-minute video and put it on your website. Add it to your email signature. I bet you will close a new deal within 30 days. That's the power of being seen. Being out, visible and proud in my business has taught me that authenticity is not just a value, it's a strategy that works. Those people who say business is not personal? I don't think they're being real with themselves. Because, for me, business has always been personal. And that's exactly what makes success.
