Positive Life NSW

Me and Mardi Gras go back. Way back. The first one I ever went to was probably in 1988, so this year in 2009 makes it 21 years since I first fell under its spell. I saw Kylie perform in both 1993 and 1998, saw Madonna pop up (only on a screen) in 1995 to thank her gay fans for their support, and witnessed countless other divas (and Jimmy Barnes!) ripping up the stage and having the time of their lives there. Mardi Gras has always been one helluva good party. It’s also always been one helluva parade – which is how the whole thing kicked off initially. A few people in Sydney decided to hold a protest, got arrested, and from these sombre, revolutionary roots a humongous festival, party and parade culture known as Mardi Gras evolved in the Emerald City.

I’ve also taken part in the actual parade a few times. In 2002 I marched in the Gay Games float – I can’t quite recall which country’s “pole” I was given to march with, but it must have been one that people liked, because I recall getting cheered a lot as I walked up with my pole upright along Oxford St wearing all tight white clothing.

I wanted to do something fun - HIV be damned

I enjoyed the experience so much that the following year I went into another float in fancy dress alongside the legendary Ron Muncaster, wearing one of his gladiator creations and strutting along the street. I also recall that I had the worst cold of my life, but was determined – hell or high water – to participate. It was a real struggle to walk that long march up Oxford Street and into Flinders Street, but somehow I managed it before I had to literally be carted off home and put straight to bed. Funnily enough it was also, I might point out, the last year I was to be in Mardi Gras before my HIV diagnosis.

2004’s Mardi Gras might as well not even have happened for me. I was totally traumatised by my diagnosis and not coping very well at all. I didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to have fun and most certainly didn’t want to sashay up Oxford Street as if nothing was wrong at all. I bought into the gloom’n’doom cycle and wishing the world away. Thankfully after a few months I came to the canny realisation that life does indeed go on, and is also what you make of it. Like, I could be hit by the proverbial bus (probably the 333 – the so-called banana bus) tomorrow, so basically, why worry now?

In 2005 I went and watched the parade from a friend’s balcony on Flinders Street. I saw how much fun the participants were having in the actual parade and suddenly remembered how much fun I had had doing it in the past. Viewing the parade is a blast, sure, but nothing beats being in the actual parade itself and hearing the crowd cheer, clap and whistle and call out to you. You feel suddenly like the most important person on earth – no wonder fame can become so addictive.

I made the decision then and there that in 2006 I would not watch the parade but be in it again. And I wanted to do something fun – HIV be damned. Luckily through a friend I found out about a group that every year did something quite edgy and timely. This particular year was that in which a renowned supermodel was nabbed red-handed by a photographer doing lines of coke. Thus the “Kate Moss Line Dancers” entry into the Mardi Gras was born. We all had to wear a little black cockatil frock, heels, oversized sunnies and, of course, a big blonde wig à la Kate. It was an absolute hoot, even despite the fact that the music we had organised blew out the speakers before we even started. We just improvised as we ran along the route, pretending to hoover up white powder off the street with large pipes. We even won an award later for Best or Funniest Entry. It was a good and timely reminder to me that HIV or not, you’re still allowed to have fun and should never let your diagnosis restrict you from doing what you want to do.

That said, once the Kate wig came off I realised I wanted to be in the parade again but next time do something sexy. Being in drag, and sad drag at that, is all very well and clever and amusing, but, sadly, you don’t get the hot guys (i.e. the guys in the lifesaver floats or the marching boys) eyeballing you in the waiting area before you hit the parade route.

Thus in 2007 I opted for sexy. There was a big Kylie tribute float that was mooted. That sounded like fun, but again not particularly, well, hot. Thankfully it was decided that to lead the float a large letter “K” was required, in the style of a Trojan horse, which six leather-clad “slaves” would pull on ropes. I scored one of the slots. I roped in (so to speak) some mates and we all begged, borrowed, or bought leather gear, or even got some of it specially made. I’d never been particularly into leather before, but after borrowing a harness and putting it on and seeing the reaction it got, it wasn’t long before I invested in my own.

But I digress. That year I strutted my stuff as a hot leatherman – complete with leather cap, mirror sunglasses, black policeman pants and harness – and lapped up the attention. At Taylor Square I remembered being filmed whilst grabbing one of my mates, who was dressed in lookalike leather, for a hot pash. Our leather tongue-lock was captured and beamed around the world. I felt sexy, hot and adored. I realised that even though I was HIV+ I was still a sexual being and still had the need to feel both sexually potent and sexually desirable. I owned that moment and I will always remember it as a defining period in my reawakening as a happy, positive and sexually potent member of the gay community.

Last year I took a different tack. I wasn’t in the parade. I wasn’t even dressed up. Instead I watched the parade with my five-year-old god son sitting on my shoulders. Seeing it through his eyes made for a startling reappraisal. There was nothing sexual about it to him at all. It was all about the colours, the lights and movements and the “funny stuff”. He laughed all the way through the parade, before he fell asleep at the end, as you might expect. Well, it was way past his bedtime after all. He reminded me though of why I love Mardi Gras in the first place – it’s able to be something different, yet still something fabulous, to everyone, no matter your age, sexuality, creed, colour, or, yes, HIV status.

This year, incidentally, I’ll be back in the parade. I’m already well into my Mardi Gras diet and aiming to look my best for “my” public. I know there’s a certain amount of narcissism involved, but I also like to think that in some small way perhaps I can give hope to other HIV+ guys that you can still participate in the Mardi Gras, still look great and still not be afraid to be yourself. That is what Mardi Gras is about really, after all, when you think about it. To me, anyways. Party on!