World Pride in London in July 2012. Photo: Getty
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How to enjoy Gay Pride (if you’re straight)

Do drink slightly warm cider, dance in public and raise your voice in support of LGBT rights. Don’t dare each other to “go up to” drag queens.

Glitter supplies are running low, corporations have gone rainbow to hide their bastardism, religious nuts are upset: yay for Gay Pride season. In case you don’t know any LGBT people who have been in the throes of the annual “Do We Still Need Pride?” debate for the past fortnight, the London one is happening this weekend. Famously, any friends of The Gays are welcome. Now, straight people, I love you, but some of you need a bit of handholding when it comes to doing Pride. Here’s my guide to not ruining it for everyone:

Remember: you’re not on safari

Breeders, I hate to break this to you – Pride may well be this wacky, thongy hootenanny, but it doesn’t happen for your entertainment. Stop taking pictures of absolutely everything, like you’re some kind of cultural Kaspar Hauser who’s never seen a balloon. It isn’t, “ZOMFG random o’clock”, it’s probably just a body builder in a pineapple bra. Chill.

And stop daring each other to “go up to” drag queens.

Watch your fucking language

No, those aren’t “trannies”.

“But they’re blokes in resplendent evening gowns,” you protest, “They look like my auntie Brenda on her wedding day, if she’d been 6’5” and had hands like Le Creusets.”

Yes, and you look like Norman Tebbit’s podiatrist, but duller. I’m not going to make a thing of it though.

Remember folks, just because you once gave a lesbian directions to the nearest Boots, and were “totally cool” about it, you can’t use the word “dyke”. Even on special occasions.

Enjoy yourself

Aside from the inevitable rain, nothing puts a dampener on Pride quite like a group of straight people looking like George Galloway in a synagogue. Whatever’s happening, just go with it. How many times a year do you get to grind to Beyoncé with an oiled Adonis in a Miley Cyrus mask, in broad daylight?

Oh, and I’m allowed to look like I’m chewing a turd: I’m a lesbian.

Be supportive

Even LGBT people often forget that Pride is, at its root, political. Sure, it’s about drinking enough slightly warm cider to dance in public. But it also serves to remind people like you that the queer community has a voice, and that, in the words of Conchita Wurst, “We are unstoppable”. So please don’t be afraid to shout as loud as us, or louder even.

Don’t buy a penis balloon

Every year, vendors turn up to Pride with heaving fistfuls of dicks. I’m not sure who these people are, or why they think Pride is some kind of pagan fertility rite. Last year I saw one of them being arrested, so I’m guessing they’re not supposed to be there. But anyway, Pride isn’t your own, personal Saturnalia (well, maybe it is a little bit…) so please don’t meander though Soho, wielding a phallus on a stick like a disturbing lost child. If you absolutely have to wield something, just opt for a rainbow flag like everybody else.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

Photo: Getty
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Leaving the cleaning to someone else makes you happier? Men have known that for centuries

Research says avoiding housework is good for wellbeing, but women have rarely had the option.

If you want to be happy, there is apparently a trick: offload the shitwork onto somebody else. Hire cleaner. Get your groceries delivered. Have someone else launder your sheets. These are the findings published by the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, but it’s also been the foundation of our economy since before we had economics. Who does the offloading? Men. Who does the shitwork? Women.

Over the last 40 years, female employment has risen to almost match the male rate, but inside the home, labour sticks stubbornly to old patterns: men self-report doing eight hours of housework a week, while women slog away for 13. When it comes to caring for family members, the difference is even more stark: men do ten hours, and women 23.

For your average heterosexual couple with kids, that means women spend 18 extra hours every week going to the shops, doing the laundry, laying out uniform, doing the school run, loading dishwashers, organising doctors' appointments, going to baby groups, picking things up, cooking meals, applying for tax credits, checking in on elderly parents, scrubbing pots, washing floors, combing out nits, dusting, folding laundry, etcetera etcetera et-tedious-cetera.

Split down the middle, that’s nine hours of unpaid work that men just sit back and let women take on. It’s not that men don’t need to eat, or that they don’t feel the cold cringe of horror when bare foot meets dropped food on a sticky kitchen floor. As Katrine Marçal pointed out in Who Cooked Adam Smiths Dinner?, men’s participation in the labour market has always relied on a woman in the background to service his needs. As far as the majority of men are concerned, domestic work is Someone Else’s Problem.

And though one of the study authors expressed surprise at how few people spend their money on time-saving services given the substantial effect on happiness, it surely isn’t that mysterious. The male half of the population has the option to recruit a wife or girlfriend who’ll do all this for free, while the female half faces harsh judgement for bringing cover in. Got a cleaner? Shouldn’t you be doing it yourself rather than outsourcing it to another woman? The fact that men have even more definitively shrugged off the housework gets little notice. Dirt apparently belongs to girls.

From infancy up, chores are coded pink. Looking on the Toys “R” Us website, I see you can buy a Disney Princess My First Kitchen (fuchsia, of course), which is one in the eye for royal privilege. Suck it up, Snow White: you don’t get out of the housekeeping just because your prince has come. Shop the blue aisle and you’ll find the Just Like Home Workshop Deluxe Carry Case Workbench – and this, precisely, is the difference between masculine and feminine work. Masculine work is productive: it makes something, and that something is valuable. Feminine work is reproductive: a cleaned toilet doesn’t stay clean, the used plates stack up in the sink.

The worst part of this con is that women are presumed to take on the shitwork because we want to. Because our natures dictate that there is a satisfaction in wiping an arse with a woman’s hand that men could never feel and money could never match. That fiction is used to justify not only women picking up the slack at home, but also employers paying less for what is seen as traditional “women’s work” – the caring, cleaning roles.

It took a six-year legal battle to secure compensation for the women Birmingham council underpaid for care work over decades. “Don’t get me wrong, the men do work hard, but we did work hard,” said one of the women who brought the action. “And I couldn’t see a lot of them doing what we do. Would they empty a commode, wash somebody down covered in mess, go into a house full of maggots and clean it up? But I’ll tell you what, I would have gone and done a dustman’s job for the day.”

If women are paid less, they’re more financially dependent on the men they live with. If you’re financially dependent, you can’t walk out over your unfair housework burden. No wonder the settlement of shitwork has been so hard to budge. The dream, of course, is that one day men will sack up and start to look after themselves and their own children. Till then, of course women should buy happiness if they can. There’s no guilt in hiring a cleaner – housework is work, so why shouldn’t someone get paid for it? One proviso: every week, spend just a little of the time you’ve purchased plotting how you’ll overthrow patriarchy for good.

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.