Love Pride but Hate Big Parades? These Places Are Doing It Differently

Love Pride but hate big parades – This year, Cleckheaton is hosting its third Pride event, a gathering that has grown in size but remains modest compared to the iconic celebrations in London, Manchester, or Brighton. Dione Frost, the event’s organizer, describes it as the most ambitious yet, though she acknowledges it’s still a fraction of the scale of larger urban parades. Despite the Pride movement’s current challenges—marked by cancellations and reduced events in some areas—smaller, community-driven celebrations are gaining traction. From quiet picnics in Salford to nature-focused excursions in Glasgow, these alternative approaches are redefining what Pride can look like in a rapidly evolving social landscape.

While big parades dominate headlines, grassroots Pride events are carving out their own spaces. For instance, in Cleckheaton, the atmosphere is far removed from the usual hype. On a typical Saturday, the town’s High Street hums with the familiar rhythm of market stalls and local shops. But at The Loft bar, the scene is transformed. A rainbow balloon arch greets attendees, and the room bursts with color as drag queens take the stage. Dione Frost, who spent the early hours preparing for the event, notes that the venue’s cozy charm adds to its appeal. Music from Christina Aguilera’s “Lady Marmalade” fills the air, while the crowd enjoys a more intimate celebration than the grander, more frenetic events elsewhere.

Drag performer Coby Mayman, one of the acts, shares a story that highlights the personal challenges faced by LGBTQ+ individuals in smaller towns. He recalls nearly missing the event when a taxi driver refused to pick him up, mistaking his makeup for a sign of “boyish” attire. “I was dressed in joggers and a jacket, but my wig and makeup were on,” Mayman explains. “He asked if the cab was for my boy name, and when I said yes, he just drove off.” While this was a first-time incident for Mayman, who performs under the stage name Kylie Kush, others in the community say such experiences are all too common. Yet, Mayman emphasizes that the event’s safe, welcoming environment makes these moments worthwhile. “It reminds me why visibility matters,” he says. “In places like this, people can see they’re not alone, and that’s special.”

“If spaces like [The Loft] can put them on independently, that’s great and it gives people like me a place to be myself.”

The wider Pride movement is also grappling with political tensions. This month, several Reform-led councils have announced plans to withdraw support from Pride events and cease flying Pride flags on civic buildings. Their rationale centers on the idea of “representing everyone in the community equally” and “concentrating on core responsibilities.” Cleckheaton’s Kirklees Council, which has a Reform majority but hasn’t elected a leader yet, remains supportive of some local Pride initiatives. However, the debate has sparked concern among attendees about the future of LGBTQ+ visibility in the area. Jodie Hudson, a 46-year-old visitor from nearby Osset, questions the decision to stop flying flags. “If the council can save money by not funding Pride, that doesn’t bother me much,” she says. “But not flying the flags feels wrong. It’s a symbol of inclusion, and without it, people might feel excluded.”

Later in the week, the focus shifts to a more unconventional celebration: a queer ecology tour in Glasgow’s Queen’s Park. Around 25 people, bundled in boots and cagoules, gather at the gates for an event that blends nature exploration with community bonding. The idea came to insect scientist Connor Butler in 2023 after he found himself unexpectedly at London Pride while commuting to work. Wearing what he describes as “gross bird-feeding clothes, covered in bird poo,” Butler felt out of place in the bustling crowd. “I don’t like crowds, I don’t like clubs or drinking, so I just felt so alienated,” he recalls. “Everyone else was looking beautiful, and it wasn’t a great first Pride experience.”

“I don’t like crowds, I don’t like clubs or drinking, so I just felt so alienated by it. Everyone else was looking beautiful and it was just not a great first Pride experience.”

Butler, now running his tours across the UK, guides small groups through urban parks and green spaces, emphasizing the intersection of nature and LGBTQ+ identity. He explains that the initiative was born from his desire to create a more inclusive space where people can connect without the pressures of a parade. During one session, attendees use insect nets and hand lenses to observe the diverse creatures in the underbrush. A centipede becomes a crowd favorite, sparking conversations about the hidden biodiversity of everyday environments. Butler also draws parallels between scientific discoveries and LGBTQ+ history, citing the 1970s research on Western gulls that revealed 15% of them form same-sex pairs. This finding, he notes, initially caused a moral panic and even led to calls to defund studies on queer behavior in nature.

Beatrice Thirkettle, a 32-year-old participant, appreciates the tour’s focus on accessibility. “It’s about making it clear to LGBTQ+ people that the outdoors are for you,” she says. “It’s a nice chance to meet others from the community away from the noise of music or alcohol.” For Hannah Eaton, a 26-year-old wheelchair user, the event offers a rare opportunity to engage with Pride in a setting that accommodates her needs. “Traditional Pride events often feel overwhelming,” she adds. “This is a place where I can feel comfortable and be part of something meaningful.”

Meanwhile, in Salford, a picnic-style Pride event has become a popular alternative. The organizers describe it as a relaxed, inclusive gathering where attendees can enjoy food, music, and conversation without the intensity of parades. This format has attracted a growing number of participants, particularly those who find large events stressful or intimidating. The emphasis on community and comfort reflects a broader shift in how Pride is celebrated, with some people prioritizing personal connection over spectacle.

These events, though small in scale, are gaining momentum as a response to the challenges faced by the Pride movement. Whether through drag performances, nature walks, or casual picnics, they offer a diverse range of experiences that cater to different needs and preferences. As political support for Pride remains uncertain, such grassroots initiatives are proving vital in maintaining visibility and fostering belonging. For many, they represent a more authentic expression of Pride—one that doesn’t rely on grandeur but on the shared joy of being part of a community that celebrates diversity in its own way.