From boardrooms to creative agencies, queer women and non-binary folks often find themselves at the receiving end of token gestures and a lack of sensitivity, even expected to carry the burden of inclusion efforts
When 26-year-old Mumbai-based Harshala (she/her), content head at an F&B brand, agreed to feature in her company’s campaign about allyship, she felt hopeful. As a queer woman working in a sector still shaped by age-old patriarchal hierarchies and norms, visibility felt like a step in the right direction. But at the shoot, the creative team pulled her aside, and said, “You don’t look gay enough.” For Harshala, that seemingly nonchalant sentence vocalised the gap between what companies claim and what they actually do.
Across industries, from corporate boardrooms to creative agencies and tech teams, queer professionals—especially women and non-binary folks—find themselves navigating a landscape of policies that promise inclusion but fall short when it comes to implementing them. Representation, when it happens, is still too often about aesthetics rather than authenticity; about who looks the part, rather than who lives the reality.
Too often, queer women in the workplace are expected to shoulder the weight of inclusion efforts, all while navigating structures that were never designed with them in mind. The data paints a stark picture: McKinsey found that nearly three in 20 twenty LGBT+ women believe their sexual orientation will negatively impact their career advancement. Queer women are also more likely to face harassment, including sexual harassment, than both their cishet peers and gay men—experiencing not just inappropriate comments but invasive, violating behaviours.
When words don’t translate to actions
For Harshala, a supportive and inclusive workplace is one where internal practices align with the organisation’s external messaging. “Too often, companies proudly showcase their DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) policies, but when you look closer, the support is just for show. There is no real education or sensitisation happening internally. For example, a brand might launch a bold Pride campaign, but do little to actually create safe spaces for queer employees or help teams unlearn biases.”
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McKinsey found that nearly three in 20 twenty LGBT+ women believe their sexual orientation will negatively impact their career advancement. Image: Pexels
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Representation, when it happens, is still too often about aesthetics rather than authenticity. Image: Unsplash
Even when policies exist on paper, the day-to-day reality can be starkly different. “[In my industry], the kitchen is still seen as a space for ‘tough guys,’ and it shows. There’s a long way to go before women and non-binary folks aren’t just welcomed, but are actively enabled to thrive in these environments.” Harshala’s comment on the functioning of the kitchen is reminiscent of the hit television series, The Bear. In the show, the protagonist, Carmy, adopts the French brigade system to bring order to his chaotic kitchen. This system is a model inspired by military hierarchy that demands strict obedience through calls like “yes, chef”.
While intended to improve efficiency, this system reinforces deeply ingrained gender roles, valuing toughness and masculinity as survival traits. The show goes on to highlight how women and non-binary chefs often face pressure to conform to these hierarchical ideals, and are compelled to adopt masculine behaviours to gain respect or risk marginalisation. This portrayal underscores that inclusion requires more than just laying down policies—it means challenging the very power structures that define the workplace culture.
“What makes a difference,” says Harshala, “is when people in power are willing to pause, listen, and unlearn.” During a product expansion at a previous company, she remembers suggesting that eyewear shouldn’t be marketed strictly for boys or girls. “My super-boss, who was raising a child in a [stereotypically gendered] way, didn’t just take that input seriously; she came back later, asking for book recommendations and resources to help her raise her child with more awareness. That felt like real allyship, when the conversation didn’t just stop at the brand, but extended into personal learning.”
But such moments at the workplace are an exception, rarely the norm.
Is the onus to correct long-held biases only on queer folx?
For Pooja Jana (she/her), a 32-year-old engineer working in the tech industry in Mumbai, invisibility takes on a different shape. “The invisibility is real, especially for queer folks who don’t fit into stereotypical boxes or who aren’t ‘out’ in a visible way. I’ve been in meetings where people assumed things about my personal life, or left me out of social dynamics because I didn’t fit a norm. Even if it is not intentional, it leaves a mark, putting the onus on me to speak up and correct assumptions, which gets exhausting. That pressure to self-advocate and remind people that queer lives don’t follow heteronormative scripts can be a quiet, constant drain on the time and energies of queer folx.”
“COMPANIES PROUDLY SHOWCASE THEIR DEI (DIVERSITY, EQUITY, AND INCLUSION) POLICIES, BUT WHEN YOU LOOK CLOSER, THE SUPPORT IS JUST FOR SHOW”
Harshala (she/her)
What has helped, reflects Pooja, is working in places where her partner is acknowledged in the same way as everyone else’s, where she knows her manager will have her back if something feels off, and where equitable systems are in place. “I’ve been lucky to work in places where I’ve been seen for my work, not judged for how I looked or what I wore. Since I didn’t have to spend energy managing perception, I could focus on doing my job well,” she says.
But meaningful inclusion, stresses Pooja, goes beyond mere gestures. “You can tell when inclusion is part of how a company operates versus when it’s just the rainbow logo every June.” It shows up in performance reviews, leadership development, and who sits on hiring panels. It’s about giving intra-org setups like Employee Resource Groups (ERGs) real decision-making powers, not just budgets for events. Moreover, it is about building awareness into the system, training managers to spot and address bias, and using inclusive language in documentation, so the burden of educating others at the workplace doesn’t always fall on marginalised employees.
However, too often, queer folx find themselves having to ask for basic considerations such as not having their pronouns assumed or being policed for how they choose to dress at the workplace. Harshala adds: “What bothers me are these systemic things that are overlooked. The things that, in hindsight, systemically hinder queer folx from having their space.”
But meaningful change can’t rely on visibility alone. It requires systemic shifts that move beyond surface-level gestures.
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Too often, queer folx find themselves having to ask for basic considerations such as not having their pronouns assumed or being policed for how they choose to dress at the workplace. Image: Unsplash
Why token, symbolic gestures toward inclusion don’t work
Twenty-seven-year-old Mumbai-based Anjali Siroya (she/her), a DEI professional and trans activist who has worked both in grassroots advocacy and corporate spaces, reflects on this evolving landscape. Meaningful change in workplaces cannot stop at symbolic gestures or token events. “Over the years, I’ve seen a slow but steady shift from tokenistic gestures to more intentional inclusion efforts,” she shares. “Earlier, it was about changing display pictures during Pride Month or hosting a one-off session. Now, more organisations are beginning to understand the importance of structural change through inclusive policies, employee benefits, sensitisation, and hiring practices. ”
What gives Anjali hope is the growing willingness to listen. “While ignorance has long been a barrier, especially around trans inclusion, I’ve found that when people are engaged through authentic conversations and lived experiences, it creates empathy, opening doors for transformation. That shift from awareness to accountability is what gives me hope.”
The multiple layers of bias toward queer women in corporate India
These shifts, however, are complex and erratic, especially for those whose identities intersect in socially complex ways. For Busaina (she/they), a 36-year-old Chennai-based queer Muslim woman and finance professional, the weight of representing her multiple identities falls heavy. As a queer Muslim woman working in predominantly upper-caste Hindu corporate spaces, she often feels the pressure to blend in, smoothing the edges of her identity that might stand out. “It’s isolating enough to be a Muslim,” she reflects, “especially in today’s political climate, where your entire culture and heritage get reduced to Eid biriyanis or token gestures.” Being one of the rare queer employees of her faith in the workplace also means that career progression often feels like an uphill climb. Busaina highlights how corporate culture can engender people to form homogeneous bubbles based on language, caste, or gender. Even when diversity is discussed, “it feels like more of an intellectual exercise; something to be debated or dissected, but not really felt or lived.”
“THAT PRESSURE TO SELF-ADVOCATE AND REMIND PEOPLE THAT QUEER LIVES DON’T FOLLOW HETERONORMATIVE SCRIPTS CAN BE A QUIET, CONSTANT DRAIN ON THE TIME AND ENERGIES OF QUEER FOLX”
Pooja Jana (she/her)
For Busaina, being queer and Muslim isn’t just a simple combination. “It’s like my very existence becomes another reason for people to not relate to me, to not see me as someone they can connect with.” This, they say, often forces them to code-switch “just to be understood, to be seen, or to feel included in some way.”
This reality reflects the broader challenges queer professionals face while navigating their careers. Anjali, who has worked in both community-led organisations and the corporate world, shares how she attempts to bring grassroots values into the corporate inclusion journey. “Having worked for six years in a community-led organisation, my approach to inclusion has always centered the voices of those most impacted. In my current corporate role, I try to ensure that the community is in the driving seat of the inclusion journey, not just consulted at the end.” She acknowledges that “things move slower, and there are more stakeholders involved” in corporate spaces, but believes in “the power of storytelling, advocacy, and building human connections”—tools she continues to use, no matter the setting.
Yet, the daily experience of inclusion requires more than structural policies or initiatives. Pooja reflects on the subtle ways inclusion shows up: “One thing that often gets missed is how lonely it can be to be the only one, or to not even be sure if you’re the only one. I’ve been in meetings or off-sites where I was scanning the room wondering if it was safe to mention my partner, or if someone would assume something based on how I dress.”
Pooja highlights the ‘emotional tax’ many queer professionals carry, where they’re expected to speak up only on issues about inclusion, even when they want to focus on their work. What has helped her most is “mentorship from people who’ve navigated similar things, not just professionally, but personally, [which] can be incredibly grounding.”
For Busaina, meaningful inclusion isn’t about checklists or corporate slogans—it’s about the willingness to listen deeply, to make space for the full range of queer identities, and to invest in the slow, often messy work of real change. Very often, corporate inclusion efforts default to the same visible voices—the ones that are already popular or those that fit a certain image of what “queer enough” looks like. As Busaina points out, there’s a persistent “(mis)conception that an external source is somehow a better subject-matter expert.” And even then, these so-called experts are often chosen based on narrow ideas of who represents the community best.
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Pooja highlights the ‘emotional tax’ many queer professionals carry; they’re expected to speak up only on issues about inclusion, even when they want to focus on their work. Image: Pexels
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“When a big company decides that ‘equity’ is too much and rebrands it as ‘opportunity,’ queer initiatives have no choice but to adjust,” shares Busaina. Image: Unsplash
“When a corporate brings in a queer speaker or panelist, they might automatically assume that only someone who has gone through gender affirmation surgery is ‘queer enough’ to speak,” explains Busaina. The quieter, less visible voices—those who might have deeper insights or richer stories—often get overlooked.
This tendency to flatten queer experiences doesn’t stop at who gets invited to speak. Even queer-led platforms get boxed into corporate definitions of what’s acceptable. Busaina, who worked on Rainbow Bazaar, a community-led platform that champions LGBT+ entrepreneurs and their businesses, points out: “When a big company decides that ‘equity’ is too much and rebrands it as ‘opportunity,’ queer initiatives have no choice but to adjust. “It becomes a constant negotiation, and the full potential of these queer platforms never really gets realised because they have to fit into corporate expectations,” they say.
This flattening also shows up within queer spaces themselves. Queer women, especially those who may be trans or at the intersection of other marginalised identities, such as being of Dalit, Black, or indigenous backgrounds, often find themselves carrying a double burden—fighting both misogyny and queerphobia, sometimes even within the community. Their voices are sidelined in favour of narratives that fit a more palatable, corporate-friendly version of queerness.
The way forward for queer women in corporate spaces
Despite these challenges in the corporate landscape, Busaina offers a grounded and honest perspective for younger queer professionals. “The joys of being your authentic self get talked about a lot, but the challenges that come with it aren’t spoken about as much… it’s not easy, it takes time. And it’s important to be kind to yourself while you’re figuring it out.” They encourage young queer folx in corporate workplaces to find allies and to be their own advocates. Because, as Busaina puts it, “The human psyche is such that no matter how unfamiliar or different something seems at first, with enough repetition, it becomes normalised. That’s how change happens, little by little.”
“THE HUMAN PSYCHE IS SUCH THAT NO MATTER HOW UNFAMILIAR OR DIFFERENT SOMETHING SEEMS AT FIRST, WITH ENOUGH REPETITION, IT BECOMES NORMALISED. THAT’S HOW CHANGE HAPPENS, LITTLE BY LITTLE”
Busaina (she/they)
Pooja echoes that sentiment. “Early on in my career, I focused on just being technically solid. I felt like that was the safest way to earn credibility. I wasn’t always sure how much of my identity I could bring into the room. But over time, I saw how being open, when it felt right, helped me build trust and stronger working relationships.”
Pooja adds that visibility doesn’t always have to be loud. “I remember reading about Tim Cook coming out not to be the ‘gay CEO,’ but because he knew [that doing so] it might help someone else. That stuck with me. We don’t have to be loud to be visible—we just have to be real.”
The emotional labour queer women carry—the pressure to represent, to be the “DEI voice,” to navigate visibility—is real and exhausting. True inclusion demands systemic change: zero-tolerance harassment policies, fair career opportunities, and spaces where queer folx of all genders are valued without having to prove their worth. Organisations must do the work of unlearning biases and expanding their understanding of inclusion beyond convenient categories. The burden of change shouldn’t rest on queer women alone—the real question is whether organisations are ready to transform and earn their trust.
Curated by Gaysi Family
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