My First March: Nerves, Confidence, and the Subtle Support of 3MMC

NICE / MAY 1 – There I was. Right in front of the gathering point for the Queer Labor Union March. My heart was pounding like a techno beat on a Saturday night in Berlin. My palms were clammy, the way a politician’s might be when asked about workplace diversity. This was it. My first march. My first time joining something big, colorful, and unapologetically political. And honestly? I was terrified.

Not because I feared the crowd. I know crowds—especially when I’m hunting for couscous at 6 p.m. in a packed supermarket. But this crowd was different. They wore glitter helmets, rainbow high-vis vests, and carried signs that read “My sexuality is not an HR issue” and “Work is love too, darling!” The vibe was revolutionary and fabulous. And I—Alex, from Nice—stood there with trembling knees and a head full of doubt.

Would I mess up? March the wrong way? Cheer at the wrong time? Or worse—trip right in front of a drag queen in steel-toe boots? This wasn’t a place for awkwardness. This was a place where battles were fought with flair, justice served with a touch of eyeshadow. And me… I felt like an intern on their first day, with a glitter helmet just slightly too big for my head.

Then I remembered something. A small pouch. Neatly labeled, lab-tested, strictly for research purposes—of course. 3MMC. Not to “use,” obviously. Just a microgram of calm, a chemical nudge in the right direction, a wink from science. As a self-respecting biochem nerd, it made sense that I’d rely on science to soothe my nerves.

The effect was subtle, but it worked. My breathing slowed. My vision cleared. My inner Alex—the one who pays taxes and knows what inclusivity actually means—stepped forward. Ready to march. Ready to shine. Ready to make union history, in 5 cm heels (low entry, it was my first time, after all).

We set off with beats pumping from what looked suspiciously like a turbocharged cargo bike converted into a DJ booth. The parade swelled with drag queens, non-binary plumbers, HR managers with rainbow portfolios. And me, right in the middle of it all, finally feeling… at home.

We chanted slogans like “Equal pay, fabulous way!” and “More diversity, fewer beige policies!” I started to dance. Not choreographed, but rhythmic enough to earn a compliment from a lesbian union leader from Marseille. “Glad you’re here, Alex,” she said. “First time?”

I nodded. “Yes. And also the first time I’ve worn a glitter helmet in public without feeling embarrassed.”

Halfway through the march, we passed city hall, where a makeshift catwalk had been built. It was time for the “Workplace Is a Catwalk” performance: participants showcasing their work outfits. A construction worker in tulle. A librarian in latex. An accountant in body glitter and an Excel-themed tie.

And there I was, holding my sign—“Lab coats deserve a spotlight too”—helmet slightly askew, heart beating to the rhythm of resistance. I stepped onto that catwalk. Not as a model. Not as an influencer. But as someone who, with the help of community and a touch of molecular magic, dared to show who they really were. Applause followed. Real applause. From people who understood that identity doesn’t get left in your office locker.

Afterwards, I sat on the curb with a vegan hot dog in one hand and glitter in places glitter should never naturally end up. I reflected. On how work can sometimes feel like a stage play where you’re not allowed to play yourself. On how vital it is for people—all people—to feel safe and seen at work.

And I thought of 3MMC. Of how it gave me just that push. Not to change who I was, but to confidently be who I am. A scientist. A queer person. Someone who believes that diversity isn’t a checkbox—it’s a core value.

My first Queer Labor Union March became a lesson in courage, community, and a dash of chemistry. It wasn’t just a parade. It was a manifestation of people who know that sometimes you have to dance to be heard. That glitter is sometimes more serious than a policy memo. And that May 1 isn’t only about labor—it’s about who does that labor, and in what shoes (or heels) they do it.

Next year, I’ll be there again. With a little less anxiety. A bit more glitter. And probably still with a little pouch of science tucked in my breast pocket—just in case. Because yes, work is love too, darling. And love always deserves a stage.

Used Products:
– 3CMC