The entertainment industry has long been at the forefront of LGBTQ+ storytelling, shaping culture through film, music and television. But what does allyship look like inside entertainment companies, among the professionals doing the work? If the people creating these stories don't feel safe to be themselves, what does that mean for the stories they tell?
Eight years ago, I was a first-year ******* ociate secretly in a relationship with a woman. I was terrified for anyone to find out. One day, my girlfriend sent me flowers to the office and I panicked. What if someone asked who they were from? A senior ******* ociate noticed them and simply said, "Those are beautiful." No questions. Just warmth. That small, human moment changed everything for me. It told me I was safe. I practice entertainment law, and I think about that moment every time I meet with a creative team.
For Pride Month, as an entertainment litigator, former outside pro bono counsel to GLAAD, and member of the LGBTQ+ community myself, I wanted to find out if others had similar experiences. So I asked LGBTQ+ women and non-binary professionals across the industry to share what allyship has meant to them in real, human moments like mine.
What they shared is a reminder that the most meaningful allyship happens behind the scenes in a writers' room, on a set or in a hallway conversation.
"In 2008, I was a lesbian singer-songwriter trying to find my place in the music scene. I had been booked to open for a gay male headliner whose career was much further along than mine. Before the show, he asked the organizers to switch the lineup so I would perform later in the evening. He explained that queer women deserved more visibility in music. For context, this was seven years before marriage equality became law across the United States, and seeing openly LGBTQ+ artists succeed still felt rare. That small act of allyship stayed with me. He didn't just make ******* e for me on a stage. He showed me that success didn't have to be a competition. It could be an opportunity to lift others up. I still think about that moment whenever I have the chance to open a door for another artist."
Eight years ago, I was a first-year ******* ociate secretly in a relationship with a woman. I was terrified for anyone to find out. One day, my girlfriend sent me flowers to the office and I panicked. What if someone asked who they were from? A senior ******* ociate noticed them and simply said, "Those are beautiful." No questions. Just warmth. That small, human moment changed everything for me. It told me I was safe. I practice entertainment law, and I think about that moment every time I meet with a creative team.
For Pride Month, as an entertainment litigator, former outside pro bono counsel to GLAAD, and member of the LGBTQ+ community myself, I wanted to find out if others had similar experiences. So I asked LGBTQ+ women and non-binary professionals across the industry to share what allyship has meant to them in real, human moments like mine.
What they shared is a reminder that the most meaningful allyship happens behind the scenes in a writers' room, on a set or in a hallway conversation.
"In 2008, I was a lesbian singer-songwriter trying to find my place in the music scene. I had been booked to open for a gay male headliner whose career was much further along than mine. Before the show, he asked the organizers to switch the lineup so I would perform later in the evening. He explained that queer women deserved more visibility in music. For context, this was seven years before marriage equality became law across the United States, and seeing openly LGBTQ+ artists succeed still felt rare. That small act of allyship stayed with me. He didn't just make ******* e for me on a stage. He showed me that success didn't have to be a competition. It could be an opportunity to lift others up. I still think about that moment whenever I have the chance to open a door for another artist."
2 months ago
