Pride Month means a lot of things to different people—a time of celebration, resistance, strengthening communities, and reflection. Ever since the 2015 landmark Supreme Court decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, which made same-sex marriages the law of the land, Pride Month and the many parades across America have taken on a more lighthearted, joyous tone (with the help of rainbow capitalism) compared to their tumultuous roots. After all, Pride started as a protest.
In 2025, that celebratory tone feels muted. With over 700 anti-trans bills currently in play across the country, and once-loud corporate sponsors like Pepsi and Mastercard quietly retreating, the safety and liberty of LGBTQ+ people—especially trans folks—are being openly challenged. Despite the climate, queer Americans are still here. Still thriving. Still finding joy.
Being openly queer in America will always remain an act of defiance. For Pride, Essence Girls United spoke with four LGBTQ+ folks—from their 20s to 50s—about their coming out stories, what it means to live out loud today, and how the queer experience continues to evolve.
Keke, 24, a nonbinary person who uses he/him pronouns, remembers middle school as the moment he knew he was “concretely gay.” Raised in a Catholic environment and attending an all-girls Catholic school, his earliest feelings of attraction brought not only confusion but a deep sense of guilt. “It [felt] like a crime and sin,” he says of his initial feelings toward girls. His identity shifted over the years—from lithromantic to pansexual to bisexual—and culminated in a brief but formative high school romance with a butch lesbian. “I couldn’t even try to make myself date a guy successfully. So I left high school identifying as a lesbian, and I have ever since.”
For Keke, today’s queer reality is nuanced. “Being queer now has definitely changed from what it was that I’ve read about in at least a decade or two decades ago,” he says. “Two decades ago, it was something to be violently ashamed of, right? Like if you weren’t ashamed, someone would make you ashamed. Now, most people don’t care if you are or not.” He recognizes that progress remains inconsistent. “I would say progress is stagnating, honestly. We’re moving forward and backward in such quick succession that it’s hard to tell where we’ve started… Progress for our trans siblings needs to be a little bit better within the country.” Community continues to be a vital anchor. “I have the benefit, the blessing of being able to find queer community pretty much anywhere I go.”
Jon Cope, now in his 30s, describes an early and instinctual understanding of who he was. “My personal preference was to find activities that were more feminine in nature,” he says. “That included dressing up, playing dolls with my sister. I would style them and she would create the narrative.” He came out after his first year of college during summer break. The reaction from his Baptist, suburban family was strained. He became estranged from many of them, though his sister remained a steadfast support system. “ I kind of kept ties with the family through my sister, just doing what we could to remain as close as possible through it all,” he shares. Over time, the bond with the rest of his family began to repair, thanks in large part to his sister’s role as what he calls “a beautiful bridge.”
Cope notes a profound shift between coming out in 2008 and being gay in 2025. “The amount of children that were killing themselves and didn’t see hope for their futures,” he remembers. “People who hadn’t even experienced life just didn’t want to do it anymore.” He points to broader cultural influences—perhaps the rise of Lady Gaga or the hope following Obama’s historic win—as part of the shift. Representation remains central to his mission. “It’s always been important to represent an example of someone who is queer, who is living a life that feels authentic.” Fashion plays a key role in how he explores that truth. “I use fashion to really explore: How can I show up as my most high self, like every day? It’s a huge practice.”
Patrick Riley, 54, recalls a lifelong awareness of being different. “From my toddling childhood days, I was always different from other boys,” he says. Growing up with Southern, Christian, Bible Belt parents meant silence around his truth. He didn’t come out until after college, in his mid-twenties. A move from Atlanta to New York City, where he continued his career as a TV producer, finally gave him the space he needed. “Moving to New York allowed me the safe space to come out. It’s where I found my tribe.”
Riley came out gradually, in “increments,” but a pivotal moment forced him into full public visibility. While working as a senior field producer on The Oprah Winfrey Show, he was assigned a segment interviewing people about when they knew they were gay. Oprah suggested that he turn the camera on himself. “I had to make a decision if I was going to come out on the number one talk show in the world.” He did. The show won a GLAAD Award that year. His family’s reaction? “Crickets,” he laughs. What mattered most, though, was the message he sent. “A young man told me that the segment saved his life. I can’t be caught up in some backwards thinking shame…it was more about what I could do to maybe make somebody not feel what I felt.”
Reflecting on the current political landscape, Riley offers a message to younger generations. “I’d say to the young gay folks who find this moment in time, in society, in government to be one of resistance and anti-gay to stay the course,” he says. “These types of resistances show up juxtaposed to the progress. Sometimes we can’t see the forest through the trees depending on who’s got the loudest mic.” He urges others to focus not on fear, but on their light. “Lean into the love, lean into what it is reflecting your light… Trust that being yourself is the liberator. Being yourself is worth it every time.”