Decorating With Pride

Brittany Andrews just came out and wants the damn world to know it. She calls decorator Destiny Cruz to her place, mouth running a mile a minute. Rainbow carpets, giant naked-woman statues, lesbian battle-axes propped in every corner—pure circus material. Destiny sits through the barrage until, plain as day, she says they can rep the life loud without turning the apartment into a Pride float. Brittany freezes, red-cheeked. Destiny’s smile sticks, soft but cocky. Living the lifestyle, she says, matters more than stacking the place with glitter bomb accessories. Brittany swallows and admits the truth—she hasn’t done shit yet, no hookups, zero numbers. Destiny’s grin sharpens: “You’ve got one now.” Electricity jumps the gap. Nobody’s looking at floor swatches anymore.