I Don’t Want to Be a Rainbow Mascot — I Just Want to Be Treated Like a Human

Being the Rainbow Mascot is heavy. It means always being on guard — ready to explain, defend, educate. Even when all you want is to live.

There’s a strange, unspoken job description that comes with being gay, a contract you never signed but are expected to fulfill. You’re not just a person; you’re a representative. A walking, talking Pride flag, a living embodiment of a movement, and the designated educator on all things LGBTQ+. And honestly? The burnout is real.

This isn’t about a lack of pride. I love my community and the beautiful, resilient culture we’ve built. This is about the crushing weight of tokenism. It’s the exhausting performance of being the "palatable" gay person in the room—witty but not too loud, open but not "in your face," proud but not too political. It's the feeling that your identity is a commodity, something to be trotted out for diversity points in June, only to be quietly put back in the closet when it’s no longer convenient for the mainstream.

My life is not a TED Talk. My identity is not a performance. My existence is not a teachable moment, available 24/7 for consumption.

The role of the "Rainbow Mascot" is a heavy one. It means constantly being on guard, ready to field invasive questions from well-meaning but ignorant acquaintances. It means being asked to speak for an entire, incredibly diverse community, as if we all share a single mind. It's the emotional labor of calmly explaining why a casual slur isn't "just a joke," or dissecting your relationship for the curious, all while trying to just live your life. It's the pressure to have a perfectly curated, inspiring coming-out story, when the reality for so many is messy, painful, or simply private.

I don’t want to be a rainbow mascot. I just want to be.
I want the freedom to be imperfect. To be boring, to be grumpy, to have a bad day, or to simply be average without the fear that my individual flaws will be projected onto millions of people. I want to go to a work function and talk about my weekend with my partner without the conversation suddenly becoming a Q&A session about our "lifestyle." I want my relationship to be seen as just that—a relationship, with all its beautiful, messy, and mundane moments—not a political statement or a rebellious act.

I want the same privileges my straight friends take for granted: the right to blend in, the freedom from constant scrutiny, the ability to exist without having to justify that existence.

At the end of the day, the goal isn't to be put on a pedestal for being different. The goal is for our shared humanity to be so thoroughly and universally recognized that the pedestal becomes obsolete. We don't want to be celebrated one month a year and tolerated the other eleven. We want to be seen, respected, and understood as complex individuals, day in and day out.

I am proud of who I am. But I am a person first. I don't want to be your symbol. I just want to be treated like a human.

Before you gonna upset with my article, I wrote this not because I’m ashamed of being gay — but because I’m tired of pretending that representation means losing your right to be human. If you’ve ever felt this way, I see you.

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Struggling doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

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You are not alone.

You are important.

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Aam Anusorn | Filmmaker & Writer in Thailand 🇹🇭