Rainbow Laces 2022: 'Let's celebrate and wear them with pride'

What is it they say about small things? Small moments can reverberate beyond anyone’s imagining; small steps in the right direction can be the biggest step of all; small acts can change a world.

For me, wearing rainbow laces – a seemingly innocuous act – has always been an act of declaration, even though it was an act which for many years very few really understood.

I have worn rainbow laces for almost ten years. And not just for the rainbow season. As with most people, I have several pairs of trainers scattered around the house or in my car – and at least two of them will have rainbow laces. I love them.

I also keep a pair of pristine rainbow laces in a drawer. My reason for this also explains why I have three jars of Dijon mustard in a cupboard – it’s in case there is ever a shortage (aka FOAS - Fear Of A Shortage). I can start getting very jittery if I realise that I don’t have a pair of ‘the rainbows’ tucked safely away ready to be unleashed upon a new pair of trainers at exactly the moment I need them. I don’t get quite so fearful about Dijon mustard anymore. Based on my consumption rate I should be okay for another 15 years.

In 2013, when the Rainbow Laces campaign was launched, I had been a headteacher for three years. During the preceding 20 years, I had never spoken openly about my sexuality in any of the schools I had taught in.

Scarred by the attitudes and condemnation heaped on gay people throughout the 80s and 90s, I was fearful of what coming out might mean for me personally and professionally. Between 1988 and 2000, Section 28 made ‘the intentional promotion of homosexuality’ a crime; schools were not allowed to support any notion ‘that homosexuality was a pretended family relationship’.

So, I trod very carefully, and made my private life just that – private: I didn’t talk about it and I didn’t invite questions. That’s not to say that colleagues didn’t know – of course they did – but they wouldn’t ask me if I ‘had a special someone’ or point out that my biological clock was ticking.

Kids are generally much quicker on the uptake than the adults and whilst it was never discussed, I know that many of them ‘knew’. They respected my privacy and I respected theirs.

It bothered me that I was not brave enough to be the role model that many pupils may have needed me to be. I knew many young people who struggled with their sexuality and, whilst I would provide a listening ear, I wouldn’t refer to any personal experience I might have had to help them see that they would find their way – that it would be OK.

I wonder what better difference I could have made if I had stood up in those school communities to show them and their peers that whilst coming to terms with one’s sexuality might feel like a crisis, it doesn’t last nor does it define who we are, wherever we land.

When the first rainbow laces came out, I saw this as a first step in addressing my lack of leadership. In the first few weeks of wearing them, I would smile benignly as parents and pupils alike would say ‘Ooh, love your laces – where did you get those from?’

I wasn’t yet ready to declare their true meaning, preferring to leave people with their own private moment of revelation once it came to them. But it was a start. Over the next few years, the school became a Stonewall Champion, the students set up an LGBTQ+ Forum, and the bravest of souls confronted their gender assignment.

My near-final act in this biographical note is to say that I did finally get up the courage to speak to the Sixth Form about being gay – and I am glad I did. Thanks to a pair of brightly coloured laces.

Since joining the FA in 2018, I have been powerfully struck by the good that the organisation and our football partners seek to do in and through the game. It’s clear that football still has its challenges when it comes to tackling all forms of discrimination, but I’m proud to work for an organisation that genuinely recognises how it can use its power and influence to drive positive change within our own organisation, the game, and wider society.

In May this year, Jake Daniels became the first gay English footballer to come out in the men’s game since Justin Fashanu – and in doing so, was the first male footballer in this country to come out whilst still playing.

It’s a shame that this remains newsworthy in 2022, but it is. It was brilliant to see football collectively embrace Jake’s decision to be open about this part of himself, knowing how this sort of courageous role modelling will help give people the strength and encouragement to be their true self, whether within football or beyond.

Inspiring people like Jake; campaigns such Rainbow Laces; seeing the England and Germany men’s captains wearing the Pride armband during the highest of high-profile fixtures; watching LGBTQ+ England players being their true selves and make history as they lifted this summer’s UEFA Women’s EURO trophy; leading nations uniting to champion the OneLove campaign on the biggest stage of them all. Our game, with people and moments like these, can make all the difference and inspire millions.

While there is much more to be done, this all represents great progress. Football is a game for all, with diversity at its heart, and what we’ve seen in recent years is hugely positive steps as we strive to build an inclusive game that we can all be proud of. We all have influence and it’s crucial that we collectively challenge when we see or hear something that isn’t right, and pull together in the right direction. Not just during campaign periods like this, but all year round.

Perhaps in 2013 the laces were a small act of rebellion on my part: a secret finally put out in the open. I was finally doing something. The laces certainly started a change; it’s why they mean so much to me and why I wear them all year round. Their bravery comes through their vibrancy. Their playfulness is their celebration. So, let’s celebrate and wear them with pride.