Toronto just wrapped up its Pride Week, one of the largest in the world, with a grand parade. Thousands of people lined the streets to watch and cheer on the colourful (in both its literal and figurative senses) procession of dykes on bikes, queens on cars, fairies on stilts, groups of leather-men, nudists, drummers, and dancers, as well as elaborate floats and marching groups representing various associations, organizations, and support networks. As expected, the parade was a mixture of sexy eye-candy, commercial sponsorship, and activism. It was a carnival atmosphere and Toronto was in a mood to party!
My partner and I arrived early enough to grab a bite to eat before settling into a nice spot on the soon-to-be shadier side of Yonge and Bloor. I walked with my partner down Yonge St., proverbial pencil in hand, eyes and ears wide open, taking in the sights and sounds of the thickening crowds.
On the street corner, the day's front pages peeping out of newspaper boxes were revealing. The Toronto Sun, in typical tabloid style, aimed to titillate its typical reader — the working-class male — with an image of dykes getting it on. The Toronto Star, with a very different market, features an article on its front page about "Smart employers now fostering Pride networks". On the sidewalk someone has dropped a little rainbow flag, its border a detachable coupon for Rogers.
Looking out the window from our places in a small Thai restaurant, we watch the slowly gathering crowds. Lots of singles, young and old, couples - heterosexual and homosexual - and few families with children find their places along the barricades. A few women walk bravely hand in hand. We saw no men holding hands, at least not outside the parade. That's not to say there were none, but certainly not enough for us to see even a single couple. And we were looking. Before the crowds got too thick, about an hour before the start of the parade, we settled into a nice spot.
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