LGBTQ+ History Month: Allyship Isn’t Seasonal

History, community, and choices that truly matter.

I’ve been thinking about where we are, who we are, and who we were. About the broad sweep of queer history and all the stories that steered us to this moment. The families we’ve created. The ways we’ve found each other.

Each October reminds me that our history isn’t just about looking back. It’s about asking how we keep that spirit alive now, how we protect each other and keep the pride alive when the rainbow starts to fade from the brands and institutions that once claimed to stand beside us.

Photo by Ehimetalor Akhere Unuabona on Unsplash

Fifteen days into LGBTQ+ History Month, October’s rolling on with a bit of a chill this year, and not just the weather kind. It feels colder than ever now that so many companies who once flooded their socials with rainbows are keeping their allyship packed away. Apparently, a few DEI-triggered snowflakes were just too much for them to handle. Bless their fragile hearts.

Surprised? Yeah, me neither. Considering the state of things right now, it’s no wonder. We’ve gotten pretty good at spotting fair-weather allies. Still, it’s a bad look, and it makes you wonder: were they ever really on our side?

I don’t think so.

That’s why I keep coming back to where I spend my hard-earned dollars. Money talks, and where we spend it matters. Every time we buy something, we’re voting with our wallets, with our queer dollars, so why not make those votes count?

Supporting businesses that actually support us isn’t just a nice idea. It’s quiet and personal activism. Every purchase becomes a choice, a statement that says, “We see each other, we value what matters, and we’ll stand together.” I stopped buying from companies that bankroll hate or fund politicians who work to strip our rights away. It’s not about canceling them for their views. It’s about walking away because of my values. It’s not always convenient, but it’s powerful. Boycotts aren’t just about saying no; they’re about saying yes to something better.

Those small choices add up. They remind me that community isn’t built only in protests or parades. It’s built every time we choose each other. Every time we refuse to forget who we are, even when others do.

And we’ve seen how powerful that can be. Remember when folks canceled Disney+ over “freedom of speech”? Financial boycotting works. I’ve been more intentional about it lately, choosing to spend with queer-owned shops, local makers, and brands that actually show up all year, not just during Pride Month.

When a company takes a stand for LGBTQ+ rights, especially when it’s unpopular, I notice that—and I try to support them. Like Costco taking a stand on DEI. I’m now a proud Costco member! If you’re not sure where to start, there are some great tools out there like Goods Unite Us to see where brands put their money, or Intentionalist and Everywhere is Queer to find queer-owned and allied businesses.

Even small choices count. Sharing a queer business on social media, leaving a review, or just telling a friend helps more than you might think. We don’t have to wait around for corporate allyship when we can build our own network of support, one rooted in community, not marketing.

And maybe that’s the real spirit of LGBTQ+ History Month. The reminder that our strength has always come from showing up for one another through action, creativity, and care.

Every year around this time we’re asked to remember, to write, update, and debate our history. Not for nostalgia, but for survival. Every story, every hard-won victory, every awkward brunch and glitter-soaked protest is part of the living record that keeps our community alive.

Because the stakes are still sky high. There are folks out there trying to make our history smaller, quieter, and easier to ignore.

Lately, it feels like our rainbow is being shrunk on purpose. The push from the Trump Administration to strip “TQ+” from “LGBTQ+” isn’t some innocent typo. It’s deliberate. It’s an attempt to erase trans, nonbinary, and queer people, tossing them aside like used glow sticks after Pride.

And that’s not just disappointing.

It’s dangerous.

It’s segregation by another name.

“Separate but equal” has never led to liberation.

What’s worse is seeing parts of our own community cheering the split. The idea that peeling off into neat little “LGB-only” boxes somehow makes us more “respectable” is heartbreaking. It’s the same old exclusion wrapped in a fresh coat of self-preservation, and it betrays everything LGBTQ+ History Month stands for. We don’t owe tolerance to intolerance. Our existence doesn’t depend on making anyone comfortable. Real progress requires standing shoulder to shoulder, not shrinking to fit someone else’s limits.

Scratch beneath the Log Cabin talking points, or the gaslighting coming from Republicans who want to rewrite queer history to make it fit their politics, and you’ll find the stories we’re meant to remember. Marsha P. Johnson flinging bricks at Stonewall, Audre Lorde, the self-described “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet,” wielding poetry as resistance, and William Dorsey Swann, the first known American activist to identify as a “queen of drag,” along with so many more. Authors, activists, poets, politicians, sports figures, and movie stars—there are too many to count who identify somewhere on the spectrum of rainbow. They can try to erase us, but those stories survive because we refuse to forget them. We hold them close, cherishing the lessons they teach about who we are and where we came from.

That’s why history matters. It tells the truth when polite society looks away. It reminds us that inclusion wasn’t a late add-on. It was the whole point. When we keep our history honest, messy, and real, we build armor for the next generation. We show them that every identity, trans, bi, ace, pan, genderqueer, and more, is vital. None of us move forward unless all of us do. It’s like a Kelly Clarkson anthem playing on repeat inside your brain: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” (You’re welcome!) Stand a little taller, prouder, and stronger together.

Chosen family is the heartbeat of queer life. You find it in activism, in drag shows, in neighborhood bars, in coffeehouses, gyms, nightclubs, broken hearts, and those quiet, intimate moments of bear hugs and air kisses. It’s all about creating a place to belong, building a tribe. No one sends official invites, but somehow we find each other. That’s the real legacy worth protecting, from coming out to connection, from joy to stubborn hope.

And we owe a thank you to Rodney Wilson, Missouri’s first openly gay public school teacher, who dreamed up LGBTQ+ History Month and made sure our stories wouldn’t be erased. Every October, we honor both the icons and the unsung heroes by telling the whole messy, beautiful story.

If we lose our history, we lose our backbone. If we fracture, we lose each other. LGBTQ+ History Month reminds us not to settle for the smallest possible club, because the rainbow deserves every color, every story, and every ounce of our solidarity.

So as we look back, it’s also a reminder to keep that legacy going—to spend queerly, support loudly, and invest in each other’s futures. The history we honor this month is still being written, one purchase, one post, one act of care at a time.

Be bold, be free, and most of all, be you.

-David

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P.S. No Thrones. No Crowns. No Kings. I hope to see you all out on October 18th at a No Kings Protest! Find your event here: www.nokings.org

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Coming Out With Pride on National Coming Out Day

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