I'd Rather Be Frolicking With the Gays
On Pride, Allyship, and the Radical Act of Being Seen
I'd rather be frolicking with the gays than shooting a wedding in a mansion.
I said what I said.
I'm here for the gals, the guys, the gays, and the theys.
Full time, I'm in my studio. Boudoir. Identity-affirming portrait work. Holding space for people to finally see themselves as whole. But a handful of times a year I pick up my camera for to associate shoot or second shoot a wedding. And this one happened to fall on Pride day in Boston.
And I ran through the pride parade throughout the day with all my camera equipment on me and a big smile on my face. Moving through this river of color and noise and joy and defiance and love. And it turned out to be another profound day I've had behind a lens.
The couple I photographed was not a gay couple, and they had no idea that their wedding would take place on Pride Day. They were so sweet and went with the flow. The kind of people who hold their day loosely and let it be what it's going to be. Their first look was scheduled for right when the parade was ending, which meant privacy was going to be basically impossible. They knew that. They were okay with that. But as someone who loves holding space, I wanted to give them something.
I happen to know someone who works at the Revere Hotel. I texted her, asked if there was any chance we could use the rooftop for a private first look. She didn't hesitate. She was excited and welcomed us up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And so this couple had a private moment together, above the city, above the crowds, above the noise of a day that was already so full of feeling. Private. Sacred. Held.
That is the part of this work I will never stop loving. Finding the container inside the chaos. Creating the conditions for people to feel seen.
We came back down and made our way through the Public Garden and Beacon Hill where pride goers were still scattered in the sunshine because the weather was just too beautiful to leave.
Every time someone called out congratulations to the couple (and people did, strangers, again and again) the couple looked up and said thank you. And happy pride to you.
“Thank you. And happy pride to you.”
This easy, generous exchange between people who were all just there together, celebrating different things that were actually the same thing. Love. Expression. Visibility. The right to take up space and be witnessed in it.
That is what Boston looked like on June 6th. And I needed to say that out loud because it mattered.
I came into that day thinking I'd rather be frolicking.
Turns out I was frolicking the whole time.
I've been photographing people for my entire motherhood. Weddings, portraits, boudoir. If you know my studio work, you know that what I do is less about the photos and more about what happens inside the person when they finally let themselves be seen.
The most emotionally overwhelming moments of my wedding career have been gay weddings. Every single time. There is something about witnessing two people stand together knowing how recently the world made room for this moment to even be possible. The way that joy carries the weight of everything that came before it.
And in the studio, the portraits that live in me the longest are the ones made with people who have spent years grappling with their own identity. People who walked perhaps mid-negotiation with themselves, and then really saw themselves (maybe for the first time) as something whole and worth documenting.
This is why intimate portrait work is identity-affirming work. It isn't a luxury or vanity. It's a restoration of something that should never have been taken in the first place.
But I would be lying if I said this wedding on Pride Day existed in a bubble.
Because while that couple stood on a rooftop holding each other, and strangers in a park were exchanging "happy pride" like it was the easiest thing in the world…somewhere else, hundreds of bills are moving through state legislatures specifically designed to strip rights from trans and gender non-conforming people. DEI programs are being dismantled across corporations, universities, and governments. Books are being pulled from shelves. Protections for queer and trans people are being rolled back.
The cumulative message, whether it's said out loud or not, is that certain people do not get to exist fully and safely in public life.
That is the backdrop Pride Day happened against. And it's exactly why pride across our country matters so much.
Because in a country where the political tide feels like it is moving toward erasure, every moment of visible joy, every parade, every "happy pride," every couple allowed to simply be in public becomes an act of resistance. And every person standing alongside them, cheering, documenting, showing up? That matters too.
Allyship matters.
Allyship isn't a label you give yourself once and move on from. It's not a post you make during Pride month and forget by July. It's something you keep choosing.
I am a cisgendered woman married to a cisgendered man. I don't experience what my LGBTQ clients and friends experience. I don't carry what they carry.
But I have been a witness. And being a witness means something. It means you don't get to unsee what you've seen. It means you don't get to walk back into your own comfort and close the door.
I refuse to photograph love and stay silent about who is being told their love is less than.
I refuse to hold space for those reclaiming their identity in my studio and say nothing about the people being legislated out of theirs.
Intersectional feminism is the actual architecture of what I believe. Because feminism that only protects some women isn't feminism, it's just a smaller cage. Real feminism means every body is seen, protected, and celebrated. Not just in my studio. Everywhere.
Being thrown into Pride Day reminded me why I do this.
The rooftop. The parade. The strangers saying happy pride. The couple who let the whole city into their day.
I came in saying I'd rather be frolicking with the gays.
Turns out I was.
I'm here for the gals, the guys, the gays, and the theys, and I always will be. So much that I decided to have an intimate pride shoot celebration with some muses at my studio. To remind ourselves to keep living our lives colorfully, and to keep showing up as allies.
Joy is not frivolous right now. It is necessary. And community (real, embodied, show-up-for-each-other community)is how we survive the hard things and celebrate the beautiful ones. I always want my studio to be that space. A place where we could breathe, play, live in color, and remind each other that allyship is something you do. Together.
Sarah from Silly Faces by Sarah painted the muses for this special shoot.
