By David Radinoff
Before we had queer emojis, TikTok slang, and Drag Race catchphrases, Queer folks had to be a little more discreet when spilling the tea. From the 1930s to the 1970s, queer communities in both the U.S. and Britain developed their own coded languages to survive in a world that criminalized their existence. In Britain, there was Polari, a flamboyant, theatrical mix of Cockney rhyming slang, Italian, and Yiddish.
Meanwhile, in America, there was The Queer Code, or Gay Speak, a vibrant yet stealthy dialect that borrowed from jazz culture, African American Vernacular English, drag slang, and the language of sex workers.
Both languages were weapons of survival, tools of connection, and most importantly, hilarious.
“Vada the Omi” and “Clock That Trade” The British had their Polari, where a handsome man was a bona omi and a fabulous woman was a dolly palone. Across the pond, Americans had their own flair: a good-looking man was trade, and a striking woman was a fish (implying she could pass as straight.) The shade!
Image: William Cameron
Need to let your friends know the cops were coming? A Brit might whisper, “The sharpy’s trolling!” (translation: the police are snooping.) An American would urgently say, “The Lily Law is on the prowl.” Either way, it was time to scatter before someone got arrested for the crime of existing.
And let’s not forget the ultimate test: How do you suss out if someone is family? In Polari, you might casually drop a “bona to vada your dolly old eek” (nice to see your old face) and watch for a knowing smile. In the U.S., the tried-and-true greeting was a cheeky “Mary, are you a friend of Dorothy?”—a Wizard of Oz reference letting you know you were among your people.
Both languages weren’t just about secrecy; they were about fun. The camp, the exaggeration, the sheer theatricality—it was a way of taking the power back. When the world tried to push Queer people into silence, they responded by making language itself an art form.
Polari was packed with insults and backhanded compliments: someone could be a naff omi (a boring man) or have a dowry riah (a terrible wig.) Meanwhile, in The Queer Code, the art of reading (insulting someone with cutting wit) was perfected. If a queen said, “Girl, your look is serving post office realness,” it meant you looked like you were ready to sort mail, not strut a runway.
Even the words we take for granted today (shade, fierce, gagging, work) all have roots in The Queer Code, particularly within the Black drag and ballroom communities of Harlem.
By the 1970s, both Polari and The Queer Code were fading, but for good reason: LGBTQ+ activism was rising. In Britain, the decriminalization of homosexuality in 1967 meant Polari became less of a necessity. In America, the Stonewall Riots of 1969 kicked off a movement where visibility was the goal, not secrecy.
Image: William Cameron
Some activists even saw these languages as relics of an era when queer people had to hide, reinforcing stereotypes of flamboyance. But while Polari mostly disappeared, The Queer Code morphed into mainstream gay slang—thanks largely to Black and Latinx ballroom culture and, later, drag queens bringing it into pop culture.
Polari might be a museum piece now, but echoes of it remain, especially in Britain’s drag and Queer communities. The Queer Code, however, evolved rather than vanished. It lives on in phrases like spill the tea, shade, reading, and realness—a testament to the resilience and creativity of queer language.
At their core, both Polari and The Queer Code were more than just words; they were lifelines. They built community in the face of persecution. They let people laugh in a world that often made them cry. And they proved that no matter how much oppression tried to silence them, queer people would always find a way to speak.
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About the author
With a 25-year background in print advertising sales and publishing, a love for art and design, and steadfast determination, William has helped develop and execute the successful launch of three publications over his career; METROMODE being his own. As the Creative Director, he sets the brand's vision and leads a talented team of writers while bringing his creative abilities (16-years in graphic design) to designing each issue.