In celebration of the Pinnacle Foundation’s Making Awkward Awesome campaign, UnLtd has invited voices from across the advertising industry to share real-life experiences of “the talk”: coming out to parents, children, clients and colleagues – or being the mentor, leader or loved one who allowed someone else to live openly.
“We don’t just come out once,” said Initiative group business director, Danielle “Elle” Galipienzo.
“If we want to live honestly, we come out constantly. To new colleagues, new friends, new rooms, never quite sure how it will land. There’s always that split second of calculation: Is this safe? Is it worth it?
“Whenever it’s someone important, I rehearse the conversation in my head. Not just what I would say, but what might be said back. Bracing for the response.”
She said when telling her parents, she had “played out every version” including “the excited one, the disappointed one and the explosive one.”
“One response was none of those things. It was awkward but rooted in love. There were clumsy moments and comments that missed the mark, but there was care. That willingness to try meant everything. It created space for us to remain close and grow together.
“The other response never happened, because I never let it. Not because I didn’t have the words, but because the fear of what would come back was louder than the relief of saying it. Sometimes silence feels safer than risking cruelty disguised as honesty.”
Galipienzo admitted that protecting herself also meant “choosing distance”.
“It was the most freeing decision I’ve ever made, and one I still have to defend.
“We often treat awkward as something to avoid. But awkward can mean someone is grappling, learning, stretching beyond what they know.
“An awkward conversation can become a bridge. An antagonistic one can break more than a relationship. It can fracture your sense of self in an instant and echo long after the words are spoken.
“I hope we reach a point where no one has to brace themselves before being honest about who they are. Where identity doesn’t require a formal announcement that hands power over to someone else’s reaction. Until then, those brave, awkward moments can shape the course of a life.”
Tag creative director Adam Ibrahim believes coming out to himself was “the most challenging mountain to climb”.
“And it wasn’t until I had my life flash before my eyes whilst literally climbing a mountain that I knew I had to do it,” said Ibrahim.
“The year is 2014. I’m 20 years old and I had set off on my first solo trip abroad to Annapurna Base Camp in Nepal. It was just me and my Sherpa, Ang Dawa (this isn’t a love story, sorry).
“After reaching base camp, we became caught in a monumental blizzard and we needed to descend in an emergency evacuation at 3am. Ang Dawa, a man who had submitted Everest umpteenth times turned to me and said “please say your prayers”.
“A couple of hours into the descent, via a thoroughfare affectionately known as ‘death valley’, we could barely see our own hand in front of us. But then we heard a great rumble from the mountain above. Heart stops. ‘Avalanche!!!’ Ang Dawa calls out. He dives on me (I swear – still not a love story) and within seconds we are covered in snow. White turned to black and I was convinced my time was up.
“And what flashed clear as day in my mind was a revelation of my true self. An immediate clarity of who I was and an extreme sorrow that I was never able to experience my truth.”
“We managed to escape from underneath the snow and grasp for air, and in that moment – I took my first breath as a gay man. Never looked back,” he said.
OMD diverse director Charles Xu grew up gay in China, in a traditional family, and recalls it wasn’t easy to come out.
“So I never did – my boyfriend at the time, was my “best friend at uni,” Xu said.
“My dad found out through some “love letters” I accidentally left behind when I moved to Australia. Awkward… He did not understand or approve it. So for years, we argued or avoided the topic.
“But during one visit he nervously asked me how my “best friend from uni” was. I told him that we’d broken up. After a pause, he said something I will never forget: “You’re not that young anymore. You should find another guy who can look after you.”
“I cried. That was his way of saying he understood, and that he cared all along.
“I recently told him I got engaged to my boyfriend. His first response: “Good. Now when are you giving me a grandchild?” I laughed. It’s still a work-in-progress, but I know he’ll always be on my side.”
Nine’s director of strategy & effectiveness, Stewart Gurney, said: “Picture it- Aug 2000. London. A baggy jeans wearing, 90s RNB loving, slightly gangly 19 year old, returning home for the weekend from university.”
“I had psyched myself up for days, weeks, even months- This was going to be the weekend. I had to bite the bullet. I had to tell my parents. I found myself sitting alone with my mother- watching Eastenders, waiting for the inevitable question “do you have a girlfriend yet?”. That familiar phrase still sends shivers down my spine. The social manoeuvring, the strained smile, and the overwhelming urge to flee- a reaction many gay men will be all too familiar with.
“When the inevitable happened, and she turned to ask me, I blurted out in a panicked tone “no but I have a boyfriend”. Silence. My mum was shocked, which actually surprised me. I was fairly sure she had an inkling- I’d never had a girlfriend, i was currently doing a drama degree and I was a trained dancer, but despite the signs she seemed genuinely taken aback,” he said.
“Cue months of various chats, tears, questions and gradual acceptance. My mum took time to come to terms with it, which was hard. But it made her and me stronger. It created a new level of confidence in me, made me feel stronger, braver and tougher. For her, it opened her eyes to a whole new world she had previously been closed off from. Over the years she made her own gay friends, she’d been to lots of gay weddings and has been known to frequent many a south London gay bar.
“Me coming out was scary and tough. It gave me the confidence to be the person I knew I was, as well as giving her the ability to see that being gay isn’t about who you sleep with, it’s about community, honesty and of course love.”
MiQ ANZ managing director, Fi Roberts, said “growing up in the working-class streets of Penrith in the 80’s/90’s, i’d never met anyone who was gay.”
“From around 3 or 4, I knew something within me was different, but I never had the opportunity until I was in my late teens to connect with what that was,” said Roberts.
“For a while I thought I was deeply connected to God, so I gave that a go, bible studies and camps, but it never quite fit. Then in 1995 I discovered Xena: The Warrior Princess, a TV show with very unsubtle lesbian undertones and suddenly all the pieces fell into place.
“Figuring out my sexuality was hard. I spent five years denying it because I was terrified I’d be “unlovable.” When keeping it a secret was causing more harm than good, I first told my school friends – it was awkward, involving some weird story I created about “red and blue socks.
“They just stared until my friend Jody finally said, “Fi, you’re saying you like girls, right? We already know and love you… but seriously, what was with the socks?” Their instant acceptance spurred me on to properly come out, and now I never shy from awkward conversations because I know they’re what help us really own who we are.”
QMS large format product & trading director, Christopher Haintz, said it “was my last night of schoolies in Lorne.”
“The year was 2008. The drink that gave me the courage to get there was half a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin (don’t recommend it). The method of coming out? A Motorola Razr,” Haintz said.
“I was part of the “bi now, gay later” generation. At the time, I genuinely believed I was bi – little did I know.”
“The final night of schoolies felt like the right moment to tell my friends. There were several drunken conversations and countless text messages. If I was going to come out, it was my story to tell, and I wanted to control the narrative.
“To my surprise, almost everyone I told was fine with it. A few people were taken aback or a little unsure, but my close, true friends had my back completely, and they still do to this day.
“Coming home to Ballarat and telling Mum was the next hurdle. She was supportive and only concerned about me. Why I ever doubted she would be anything else, I’ll never know.
“The funnier story with Mum came years later, in my late twenties, when I realised I’d never actually come out to her as gay. We laughed about it over dinner at a local Thai restaurant. Her position hadn’t changed, supportive as ever, just like my friends and family still are today.”
