Pride Isn’t Your Brand’s Party. It’s Our Protest.

May 15

This week, I walked into CVS and watched them dismantle the Easter aisle—plastic eggs, marshmallow Peeps, chocolate bunnies, soft pastels—and replace it with rainbow flags, Pride beads, and shelves of glitter-covered merch that, frankly, had very little to do with Pride and a lot to do with seasonal turnover.

I stood there for a moment—caught between appreciation and irritation.

Because yes, it’s nice to be acknowledged. But it’s also hard not to notice how hollow that acknowledgment can feel when it’s packaged, priced, and slotted between Mother’s Day and the Fourth of July.

It got me thinking. Every June, the rainbows come out. Logos get a temporary makeover. Storefronts transform into a sea of flags and slogans.
And as a gay man who lived through the tail end of the AIDS crisis, through Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, through the brutal fight for marriage equality—I’m torn between gratitude and rage.

Because Pride didn’t start in a shop window. It started in the streets. It wasn’t a marketing opportunity. It was a riot. A survival mechanism. A demand to be seen.

If you’re going to show up for Pride, you need to know where it came from. Visibility isn’t the goal. Justice is. And justice takes more than a flag in the window.

So let’s talk about where it started. Not with merch. Not with hashtags. But with a police raid, a brick, and a community that finally fought back.

It Didn’t Start with a Flag. It Started with a Fight.

On June 28, 1969, just after midnight, police raided a dive bar in Greenwich Village called the Stonewall Inn. It wasn’t the first time. LGBTQ+ people were frequently targeted under outdated “masquerade laws” that criminalized gender nonconformity. If you weren’t wearing at least three articles of clothing that matched the gender on your ID, you could be arrested.

That night, though, something shifted. Trans women of color, drag queens, and queer youth resisted. What followed were six nights of protest. It was messy. It was angry. It was necessary.

That uprising—not a parade—is what lit the spark for Pride.

Then: Brands Took a Stand

In the early days, when brands showed up for Pride, it wasn’t a marketing stunt. It was risky. It was radical. And it was real. These companies weren’t chasing cultural capital. They were putting it on the line.

Airlines & Hotels

Hospitality brands were among the first to understand LGBTQ+ consumers—not just as travelers, but as people looking for safety and community.

They didn’t just market to us—they welcomed us, often serving as host hotels for Pride celebrations across the country. At a time when “family-friendly” often meant exclusionary, they handed us keycards to spaces where we could be fully ourselves.

Spirits & Beer

Long before rainbow-wrapped bottles lined grocery shelves, spirits brands were showing up in queer bars and clubs—the lifeblood of LGBTQ+ culture.

In the late 1970s, brands like Miller Lite, Budweiser, Coors Light, and Jägermeister ran ads in regional gay newspapers—well before it was safe or popular.
In 1981, Absolut Vodka became the first mainstream brand to buy full-page ads in gay magazines and later partnered with Gilbert Baker, creator of the rainbow flag, on a limited-edition Pride bottle.
And more than just showing up in bars, many of these brands put their money where their mouth was—funding HIV/AIDS research when the government refused to even say the word.

They weren’t following trends. They were standing with a community under siege.

Local Businesses & Corporate Allies

Small businesses—bookstores, cafés, gyms—acted as lifelines. Not sponsors. Not partners. Just safe places.

Even large corporations took bold steps. General Mills, for instance, became one of the first major companies in Minnesota to raise the Pride flag at headquarters—a small but powerful signal in the early 1990s.

These brands didn’t just show up for Pride.
They showed up for protest.
They stood with us when it was dangerous, unpopular, and uncertain.
And they earned our loyalty—not for a month, but for decades.

Now: Pride Is a Pop-Up

Fast forward to today. It seems every storefront has a rainbow. Every brand has a limited-edition Pride collection. Every company wants to bask in the glow of “inclusion.”

But somewhere along the way, we confused marketing presence with moral presence. And when backlash came—when anti-LGBTQ+ voices grew louder—many of these same brands folded.

Bud Light, Target, and others retreated under pressure.
“Don’t Say Gay” laws are sweeping state legislatures.
DEI is under attack, rebranded as radical and unnecessary.
LGBTQ+ books are being pulled from shelves.
And Trump and JD Vance are now threatening to withhold U.S. trade deals from pro-LGBTQ+ countries.

Many of the brands who once paraded their allyship? Silent.

They loved our money.
They loved our PR glow.
But the moment it got hard—they vanished.

That’s not support.
That’s capitalistic convenience.

And if we are honest, some of them should never have been there in the first place.

Before You Raise the Flag: A Strategic Litmus Test for Brands

As a marketing consultant, I’ve worked with brands navigating purpose, pressure, and performance. I’ve also seen how quickly things fall apart when campaigns are built on optics instead of values.

So, if you’re planning to participate in Pride this year—start here. This isn’t a checklist. It’s a litmus test.

Because Pride isn’t just a cultural moment. It’s a test of your strategy, your integrity, and your capacity for courage.

Ask your executive team:

Why are we doing this—and can we defend it?
Is it rooted in our values or driven by campaign season?
Are we ready for the backlash?
Who will stand firm if the internet turns on us? Is the leadership aligned?
Are we investing in LGBTQ+ communities year-round?
Representation, partnerships, and pay—not just presence.
Are our political contributions aligned with our messaging?
You can’t court our loyalty while funding those who threaten our rights.
Who shaped this campaign?
Are LGBTQ+ voices in the room—or are we guessing?
Would this idea hold up without a rainbow filter?
If not, it’s probably performance, not purpose.
Can we speak credibly about LGBTQ+ history and issues?
If we don’t understand Stonewall or current anti-trans legislation, we’re not ready.
Do we have a crisis plan in place?
Or are we hoping controversy won’t find us?
Who are we willing to lose?
If standing up for equality risks alienating intolerant audiences, are we okay with that?
Are we prepared for this to be political?
Because Pride always has been—and always will be.

—> If you can’t answer these questions with clarity and conviction, don’t raise the flag. Don’t drop the collection. Don’t change your logo.

Because Pride doesn’t need more spectators. It needs leaders.

Our Community Is Not for the Faint of Heart

We don’t need brands that love us when it’s easy.
We need brands that will defend us when it’s hard.

If you want our loyalty, be prepared to take the heat with us.

Pride isn’t about fitting in when it’s convenient.
It’s about standing out when it’s dangerous.

We need advocates. Not brand leeches.

The Final Word

Pride wasn’t made for mass appeal.
It wasn’t built for marketing calendars, safe headlines, or seasonal shelf space.

It was built in defiance—by people who had nothing left to lose but their fear.
It was a riot, not a retail moment. A protest, not a parade. A statement, not a stunt.

Yes, we should dance. We should celebrate. We’ve earned that joy.

But let’s never forget:

Pride is also a rallying cry—to lift up the parts of our community still being targeted, erased, or left behind.

So this June—and every June after—brands have a choice:

Stand with us when it’s hard.
Or don’t stand with us at all.

Zachary Tindall