My friends and I shivered in the brisk autumn wind as we stepped off the city bus at Copenhagen Central Station. We approached a brightly lit door that stuck out amid the classic Scandinavian architecture. As we filed into the back of a short line, I looked up and read “Never Mind” written in a loopy red script above the door frame, taking note of the thumping bass audible from several stories above. Even though I can legally drink in Denmark, I was tense handing the brawny bouncer my Michigan ID. But, of course, he ushered us in with barely a second glance. So we entered, strobing lights growing more and more vibrant as, step by step, we descended the seemingly endless flight of stairs. As we neared the bottom, I could feel the music pumping in my chest. For 20 years I waited for this moment: my first gay club.
Though I’ve never been a huge fan of clubs in general — I find them too loud and crowded — something about Never Mind’s atmosphere was comforting. Statues, mirrors and memorabilia lined the colorful walls. I learned that the fabled gay pour was, in fact, real. The music seemed straight from my Spotify Wrapped: Gaga, Sabrina, Taylor, remix, repeat.
My friends and I danced together in a circle for what felt like ages, but, gaining courage — perhaps liquid — we eventually made our way on stage. I’ve been a musician and performer all my life, so I’m used to a crowd; however, I had never felt my soul stared right through until that moment. It was as if they were asking, “Who are you?” I looked back at them unsure of how to respond; their outfits and faces illuminated and inquisitive under the rapidly revolving mirrorball. But then the crowd moved on from me just as quickly as they had taken notice. I didn’t take it personally — there was so much to see on stage — but it made me realize that my brief panic was inconsequential compared to the sea of faces and stories below me. No one cared about how others were dancing, so why should they care how I danced? And though I saved the pole for the professionals, I put my hands up with my friends and celebrated late into the night.
The morning after, I questioned why I hadn’t been to a gay club before. Aside from the obvious age issue in the U.S., I realized I had never really wanted to go. Looking back, I believe this was because I had never had a group of all-gay friends until I arrived in Copenhagen.
My friends and I, all living in the same building, met on arrival day after a sleepless night flying across the Atlantic. All three of them are roommates in a large triple room and have unofficially adopted me as the fourth gay roommate. That title was earned after falling asleep on their couch, leading to an impromptu sleepover…twice. Even though we’ve only known each other for a few months, they have become some of my closest friends, uplifting me during the best and worst moments of study abroad. Something so refreshing about our friendship is that we are simply that: friends. It doesn’t have to fulfill the stereotype that all gay people are hooking up with each other. We can just be our authentic selves. No romantic strings attached.
In a program-wide scramble to book international travel, the boys and I planned several trips within a couple weeks of meeting. We booked a trip to Spain and Portugal for Thanksgiving break; later, a few of us decided to visit Germany and Italy together in October. Plus, Berlin is heralded as one of the LGBTQ+ capitals of the world, so it seemed fitting that I traveled there with my gay friend group, too. I decided to lean into Berlin’s history more than its nightlife (see: not a huge fan of clubs), but I could see how the city’s edgy, complex vibe catered to people from all walks of life.
That said, traveling abroad isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. The boys and I briefly discussed visiting other countries like Morocco, Türkiye, Poland and Hungary, but were quickly reminded of the realities LGBTQ+ travelers face. More than 65 countries still criminalize same-sex relationships, and even more perpetuate discrimination against queer citizens and visitors. Even though we were just friends, we worried about how these places would perceive us. We were nervous that the pitches of our voices, the way we dress and the way we behave would attract unwanted attention from authorities. What if there was an issue at border control? What if we were questioned on the street? The potential consequences outweighed the appeal, so we chose to visit more progressive destinations.
We also didn’t want to support the economies of countries that deny LGBTQ+ people the same rights and privileges as cisgender, heterosexual people — such as the right to legal marriage and the right to adopt children. This was of particular concern in Poland and Hungary, where safety might not have been as much of an issue. We knew our tourism dollars would be fueling governments that actively suppress LGBTQ+ voices through discriminatory policies and cultural norms. Even though our money would just be drops of water in an ocean of GDP, we could not be complicit in these injustices.
But you don’t have to go halfway around the world to find discrimination against the LGBTQ+ community. In the U.S., both red and blue states constantly question LGBTQ+ rights at the stateand local levels. I am from a small town in Michigan, and even though this conservative stronghold is becoming more and more liberal with each passing election, LGBTQ+ youth still struggle to find representation and equality.
The year after I graduated high school, pride flags and the rainbow “Safe Space” teachers would put on their doors were banned. The school board cited discrimination against straight students, instead championing symbols that would be representative of the “whole student body.”
The thing is, just because these stickers aren’t for everybody, they aren’t against anybody. To some students, the stickers confirmed their identity as something real, valid and allowed. The stickers were a beacon of hope, telling others that no matter what happened at home, in the community or the school hallways, that classroom and that teacher were safe havens amid a raging storm. According to the Trevor Project, LGBTQ+ youth are “more than four times as likely to attempt suicide as their peers” as a result of minority stress and LGBTQ+-based victimization. The Trevor Project also reports that when there are trusted adults and supportive peers at school, LGBTQ+ students have higher levels of self-esteem and lower levels of anxiety and depression. This debate is not about a sticker, it’s about silence. It’s about making already struggling students feel invisible.
Juxtapose that with Copenhagen, my home for the fall (and maybe (hopefully) after graduation?!). Denmark was the first country to allow same-sex couples to register in legal unions in 1989 and boasts a comprehensive welfare state that provides universal healthcare, free public education and over 40 weeks of maternity/paternity care. Here, children aren’t viewed as fragile or needing to be sheltered as they grow into adulthood. Childhood itself is a valid time when the child must be granted autonomy, transparency and the freedom to explore the world around them.
From an American perspective, Danish children’s books and TV shows may appear inappropriate or uncomfortable. Picturebooks show violence, gore and insubordination, but emphasize accountability, love and belonging. Some popular TV shows include John Dillermand, which features a man and his enormous, sentient penis. It always gets him into trouble, but he is always held responsible for his actions. Another is Ultra Smider Tøjet (Ultra Strips Down), where children aged 11-13 are presented with a panel of fully nude adults in order to promote body positivity, curiosity and sex education. In a Danish context, complex conversations around death, sex, identity, etc… aren’t culturally taboo, and while I’m not arguing that John Dillermand and his…friend…should make a cameo in the U.S., I believe we can gain a better understanding of ourselves and the human experience at large by removing some of the social barriers we see at home.
I’ve been so incredibly fortunate to meet lifelong friends, make countless memories and explore myself while abroad. However, we must recognize that the majority of our world is not as accepting as Copenhagen, Berlin or Evanston. Not everyone has Never Mind’s rainbow door shining right around the corner, leading to a place where they can be themselves. So while we work toward tolerance, acceptance and finally, equality, take time to appreciate those moments dancing to good music with great friends.
cover image by david samson
