From rainbow logos to slogan tees, corporate Pride keeps getting queer style wrong.

At this point, calling out the corporatisation of Pride feels lees like a hot take and more like a seasonal ritual. Come June, the internet slips into a familiar rhythm: someone is furious about pinkwashing, someone else is threading a mini-essay on how neoliberalism flattened the radical edge of gay liberation and inevitably, there is grant about queer culture being shrink-wrapped and sold back to us by high-street giants. All valid but all a bit expected.But honestly? The real offence might be visual because beyond the discourse, there is the sheer assault on taste. The rainbow fanny packs. The aggressive cheerful “LGBT sandwiches”. The existence, somehow, of a “Pride Manager”. All this promotion does best is that it is loud and tacky in so many ways. Think about that technicolour rebrand energy, the kind that turns everything it touches into a kaleidoscope with no edit button. Suddenly, it is everywhere: cushions, towels, duvets and yes, occasionally even entire sofas. The kind of homeware takeover you’d find wandering through Ikea or Target, wondering when exactly your living room became a mood board for “rainbow, but make it loud”. The sensory overload is overloading. The aesthetic equivalent of a pop tract that is all sugar, no structure (you know exactly who I’m referring to).

By early May, my inbox had already started cosplaying as the script for a particularly earnest bank advert. Subject lines heavy with words like “identity” and “they/them” only to reveal, upon opening, that I was being gently nudged toward a series of rainbow-colored watches or worse, a rubber flip-flop. Nothing says selfhood quite like “walk your own way”. The most ghoulish moment, though, came when Target dropped a T-shirt stamped with a the pink triangle, an emblem tied to ACT UP, the grassroots force that helped shift the course of the AIDS crisis. No context, no contribution, no permission. Just… there. Merchandised. And not even in isolation, but sandwiched between dog tutus, “adventure” sandals, a Modern Family slogan tee and several items so aesthetically confusing your brain refuses to log them for future reference. Each one louder, brighter and somehow worse than the last. It felt less like a collection and more like a slow aesthetic spill, decision-making gone rogue, bleeding across racks in lurid gradients of red, yellow, pink and green. Like sewage catching sunlight. Unsettling, but technically still sparkling.Of course, as tradition dictates, July 1 arrives and poof, the rainbow purge begins. Shelves reset, social posts quietly archived and brands revert to their regular scheduled programming. But the damage, or rather the legacy, lingers because these choices don’t just disappear; they calcify, subtly shaping how queer taste is understood in the mainstream. Which is a shame, really. As one academic from a leading fashion school (who’d prefer to stay anonymous) put it, “the origins of the Pride flag are genuinely moving. Gilbert Baker did not just design a symbol but instead, he built one with community.” Thirty people worked on the original flags, hand-dyeing fabrics, piecing together scraps from drag costumes. Each colour had intention, weight, meaning. It was craft, not content. Somewhere between that origin story and polyester tee on a discount rack, all of that gets flattened into something louder, cheaper and entirely forgettable.According to Jay McCauley Bowstead, author of Menswear Revolution, the lack of soul in these collections is not just a matter of bad taste but also a symptom of a broken system. “What you’re left with is not terribly chic or innovative,” Bowstead says. He points to the gruelling pace of the “creative industries”, where a burnt-out design assistant is often given 48 hours to churn out six Pride-themed products that fit the existing (read: cheap) supply chain. The result? Low-effort merch that prioritises manufacturing ease over actual style. It’s “Rainbow Capitalism” in its purest, most frantic form.The internet has already clocked the absurdity. You’ve likely seen the memes: side-by-side of a brand’s vision of “The Gays” (usually something neon and sequinned) versus how queer people actually dress (often leaning closer to Grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in his lived-in nightshirt). There is a fundamental disconnect between the boardroom’s version of “queer style” and the reality of what people want to wear, which, funnily enough, is usually just a well-tailored pair of trousers. “I don’t think these things are for queer people. They are for straight audiences who would consider themselves to be allies,” the academic agrees. If the target demographic is not the community itself, the whole exercise becomes a vanity project for the “cis-het” ally. Buying a rainbow umbrella is a convenient way to feel part of the movement without, you know, actually doing the work of supporting queer culture or the people who create it.It’s allyship you can purchase with a contactless tap and exactly why so much of the community feels a sense of revulsion when confronted with the seasonal onslaught of merch. We don’t want your glitter, we want your genuine support… and maybe a better-fitting shirt.The thing is that slapping a “Love is Love” slogan on a PHP1,000 polyester tee is the path of least resistance. As a group of savvy, sentiment consumers, queer people know when they are being pander-posted to. It’s not just lazy but also an insult to the intelligence of a community built on nuance. “It’s just obvious, isn’t it?” asks Jay McCauley Bowstead. He argues that brands are missing a massive opportunity to actually design. Instead of the low-hanging fruit of a rainbow print, they could be digging into the rich, coded archives of queer history. How about green carnations, specific hanky codes or the subversive power of a woman in a perfectly-knotted tie? Authenticity requires research and a design process that goes deeper than a Google Image search for “pride flag”.

If you scroll through X, you’d think “Rainbow Capitalism” was a 21st-century invention dreamed up in a 2015 boardroom. However, according to Justin Bengry, a leading historian of sexuality, the pink pound is much older and much more cynical than we realise. Bengry’s research suggests that gay men were identified as a distinct consumer group as far back as the late 19th century. Long before the Stonewall Riots, brands were already eyeing queer wallets for grooming products and fashion. As it turns out, the drive for profit has always been more important than the person spending the money.Capitalism does not care who you love; it cares what you buy. This is why we’re stuck with “lowest-common-denominator” gear, facile taglines and technicolour whistles that gesture toward representation without actually providing it. “People end up consuming their way into Pride because they are told it will make them ‘visible’”, Bengry notes. But visibility is a hollow metric. In an era where identity politics can feel increasingly fatuous, there is nothing inherently noble about wearing an “I Can’t Even Think Straight” t-shirt. For the white, cis-gendered gay man, wearing your politics on your sleeve is often just a temporary aesthetic choice and a corny one at that.&nbsp;The real danger of this “gruesome fashion” is not just that it is an eyesore but also a distraction. While we’re busy debating the merits of a rainbow-soled sneaker, the political landscape is shifting beneath our feet. In the UK, a climate of rampant transphobia makes hard-won rights feel increasingly tenuous. Meanwhile, in the US, legislative rollbacks are targeting trans youth, prohibiting the mention of “gay” in schools and threatening the legal foundations of queer existence. Zoom it out, globally, in many regions, the situation remains dire, with queer people facing state-sanctioned violence and imprisonment.Buying a branded Pride collection rarely leads to a political revolution. In fact, it often does the opposite: providing a false sense of progress while the actual work of protecting the community remains unfinished. A glittery jockstrap does not fund a legal defence, and a rainbow-themed window display won’t stop a piece of discriminatory legislation. As we face a global pushback against queer rights, the “nausea” we feel at corporate merch is a recognition that we are being sold a colourful distraction while the real fight is happening elsewhere, and also a matter of taste.Gay fashion has never been about playing it safe. Historically, it has been a weaponised form of expression with a mix of oppositional taste, aggressive playfulness and high-camp subversion. You could argue that a gaudy, neon-pink mesh tank top is jut another iteration of that classic queer desire to ruffle feathers. Also, look, not everyone wants to over-intellectualise their wardrobe. There is a time and place for showing up to the parade, having one too many drinks at bars and not giving a damn if your outfit came from a bargain bin. Sometimes, just being there is the point.However, as we move toward a world of more ethical, conscious consumption, should we not apply the same standard to our style? We know what good queer-coded fashion like. We’ve seen the blueprints from the legends like Christopher Bailey’s rainbow-check swan song at Burberry that merged heritage and Pride, JW Anderson, Diesel and Balenciaga’s queer sensibilities into high fashion without falling into the “Love is Love” trap, and not to mention, countless of queer-led independent brands like IWannaBangkok and Connor Ives who are doing the hard work of researching history and creating garments that actually mean something.Enjoying fashion in 2026 is often a series of compromises with capitalism. We know the system is flawed, but we participate anyway because we love the craft. Nevertheless, the queer community, long primary architects of global cool, should not have to settle for the crumbs of a corporate budget. We have the history, the codes and the creative firepower to demand more than a generic flag printed on a cheap tee. If a brand wants our “pink pound”, they should have to work for it. Visibility is fine, but a well-cut silhouette with a bit of history behind it? That’s a revolution we can actually wear.

The Problem With Pride Merch

Recommended posts for you

Culture

MoCAF Returns Bigger and Bolder This Year — And Here’s What to Expect

Hommes

Inside the Craftsmanship of the New Cartier Santos-Dumont

Culture

The State of Drag in Asia, According to Four Queens

Beauty

Louis Vuitton Just Came Out With Lip Liners for the Perfect Pout

Hommes

These Vacheron Constantin Watches are Inspired by Louvre Masterpieces

Fashion

The Problem With Pride Merch

Hommes

Luminisce Prima's BabySkin Laser and PRP Wants Your Skin to Look Well Rested

Bijoux

Van Cleef & Arpels Dials Up the Perlée Collection With New Renditions