Identity is a complex phenomena and it can seem overly reductive when we talk about a singular ‘queer identity’ (or indeed any other shared identity), as if all queer people are somehow bonded by some sort of universal shared experience. Our identity is a complex culmination of our individual history, culture influences, societal values: we can shape it through the content we consume, the places we visit and the people we meet. To reduce the identities of people risks shoehorning them into stereotypes and moulds for how we expect queer people to behave. This can feel particularly confining for some, and risk isolating people who are trying to carve out their own identity in a world that feels overflowing with personalities and voices. 

Identity is somewhat Janus faced - we have an identity we project outwards and our core identity, which we hold close to us. Identity is subsequently divergent in what we present publicly and privately. We present different facets of our identity depending on our surroundings: our identity as a student is very different to our identity at work, which in turn is different to the one we present to our friends. All of these are probably to some extent moulded to how we wish to be seen, hence, are inherently different to our ‘core identity’, who we are when we stay alone and unobserved. 

Our identity forms through complex processes: we are an amalgamation of everything we experience, for better or for worse. It becomes important to celebrate what we achieve and overcome, healing to bond over what we couldn’t face. In this sense, the broadening of queer literature has allowed the queer identity to develop beyond archetypes of the gay best friend and become more relatable to people struggling to carve out who they are. There can almost be something performative about identity. Sometimes we overplay aspects of our personality in a performance and identity can almost become aspirational. We talk a bit louder, try a bit harder to make jokes, to slide in another reference or two. As queer people, we feel especially pressured to conform to the stereotypical characters we see depicted in media. 

On the other hand, the tailoring of our identity to circumstance can sometimes feel insincere. Particularly for queer people, the pressure is often felt to ‘come out’, and we can feel ‘fake’ or secretive not directly acknowledging this part of our identity. Yet, we shouldn’t feel obligated to reveal our aspects of our identity to others, albeit we should be able to do so without fear of repercussion. For instance, our private lives aren’t automatically relevant to our job, but we should be able to share weekend stories the same way as our other colleagues without fear of judgement. This is a key reason why it can be so important to maintain ‘safe spaces’, places that feel inherently queer and accepting. From queer bookshops, to gay bars, there is something relaxing about spaces that welcome you and let your embrace your identity. The rite of passage that visiting these spaces have become is intensely memorable. Whilst brick and mortar buildings are only ever physical shells for the humans that inhabit them, so many places overflow with the memories and influences of people who truly felt at home in them and become synonymous with the queer identities of cities. 

Fundamentally, there can never be a ‘right’ way of manifesting your identity at work, with your friends or beyond. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do all we can to create welcoming environments for people to feel comfortable in who they are. We should create space where people can choose to reveal their own identities, without feeling obligated to. Our identities are something sacred - they embody all we’ve seen, felt and experienced. Choosing to reveal aspects of our identity can be an intimate act, or normal place - we shouldn’t feel pressured to conform to society’s expectations surrounding these.