
The first day at a new workplace is honestly just one long internal monologue.
You enter trying to look chill, but your brain is basically running a full Netflix voiceover in the background.
“Okay… don’t be awkward.”
“Smile normally.”
“Why am I walking like that?”
“Act natural.”
“What even is natural?”
And when you’re queer?
Oh, the brain adds extra tabs.
Not because you’re ashamed. Please. We survived worse outfits in middle school. We’ll survive an office.
But every new space comes with tiny calculations.
You wonder:
“What’s the vibe here?”
“Are people actually open-minded or just LinkedIn open-minded?”
“Can I casually mention my dating life or are we going to pretend heterosexuality is the default setting forever?”
So for the first few days, you observe.
You become Sherlock Holmes with emotional damage.
You notice who interrupts people in meetings. You notice who makes people feel included naturally. You notice how people react to confidence, softness, loud personalities, weird humour, expressive people.
You notice everything.
And slowly, somewhere between coffee runs, random design discussions, and people stealing each other’s chargers, the nervousness starts disappearing.
You laugh a little louder.
Your personality becomes less “office version” and more… YOU.
You stop rehearsing your sentences before saying them out loud.
And honestly? That feeling is rare.
Because queer people are used to adjusting first.
Toning things down first.
Feeling the room first.
Not always because somebody directly makes us uncomfortable, but because sometimes the world quietly teaches you to check if it’s safe before fully existing.
Which is why spaces matter so much.

And Brucira never felt like a space built around monotony.
The office itself feels loud in the best way possible. Colours everywhere. Different personalities everywhere. One person is sitting quietly, designing something insanely detailed. Another is aggressively pitching ideas like they’re on a reality show. Someone’s discussing typography like it’s a national issue. Someone’s wearing an outfit that deserves its own Pinterest board.
And somehow, all of it works together.
Nobody here feels like a copy of another.
That’s the beauty of it.
Expression exists naturally here; not just in design, but in people too.
And when you spend enough time in a space like that, something inside you relaxes.
You stop feeling like you need to arrive pre-edited.
You realise nobody’s asking you to become a smaller version of yourself to fit in.
And honestly?
That changes the way you work too.
Because people create differently when they feel emotionally safe.
Ideas become bolder. Conversations become more honest. Creativity becomes less about impressing people and more about expressing something real. And the beautiful part is, nobody pretends to know everything here.

Some people already understand the queer community deeply. Some are still learning. Some ask adorably awkward questions with genuinely good intentions. Some teach you things too.
But there’s openness.
And openness is everything.
Because acceptance isn’t always some dramatic movie speech or rainbow confetti moment.
Sometimes it’s way smaller.
It’s people making space for you naturally. It’s not having to overexplain yourself constantly. It’s being included without feeling “different”. It’s realising your identity is not the most shocking thing about you in the room.
Honestly, the most powerful thing a workplace can say is:
“You don’t have to perform here. You can just exist.”
Loudly. Softly. Confidently. Confusedly. Dramatically. Authentically.
Whatever version of yourself showed up that day.
And maybe that’s what Pride should actually feel like.
Not performative.
Not reduced to rainbow logos for one month.
Not brands suddenly discovering queer people every June like it’s seasonal decor.
Just real spaces where people feel comfortable enough to fully become themselves.
Because everybody is different anyway and every person carries their own colour.
And maybe the best creative spaces are simply the ones that make room for all of them.
All colors welcome.



