PJ Kirby: I was filled with so much shame, I thought I would never come out
PJ Kirby: "I thought I would never get married, never have kids. I was really in turmoil." Picture: Miki Barlok
The music starts, and the room thrusts forward as PJ Kirby calls out the steps.
Under his instruction, I am strutting across a floor in Liffey Trust Studios, all hips and hair flicks, lip-synching along to âboys just come and go like seasonsâ.
Iâm having fun, despite the fact Iâve just realised that the secret suspicion I harboured of being very good on if I ever got the call is very, very wrong.Â
I realise just how wrong I am when Kirby shoos the 40-50 students in his class to the side to demonstrate the routine in full before we have another go ourselves.Â
Weâre all captivated by him, erupting in whoops and cheers as he blushes, âdonât embarrass meâ.
At 6â4â, Kirby could never have been a wallflower â the Cork dancer was destined to stand out, even if he wasnât always ready to embrace it.
âThereâs a thing in Cork, where if someone loves themselves, you call them septic,â Kirby tells me over an iced oat latte in Dublinâs As One cafĂ©. âOh my god, sheâs septic, she loves herself.âÂ
âYouâre allowed to be septic in [my] class, youâre allowed to love yourself.âÂ
When Kirby, 30, says this, he says it with some authority. Born in 1993, his arrival coincided with the year homosexuality was decriminalised in the State.Â

But as the Blarney Street native says wryly, people werenât exactly âflying the flagâ in his youth.
âGrowing up, I didnât know that many queer people or gay people on the north side of Cork. There was one boy who came out in secondary school, but he was getting stones thrown at him. So, I was terrified. Thatâs why I think I didnât come out until I was 20 when I moved [to London]. I didnât think I was going to be able to.âÂ
Kirby, who has become one of the most recognisable faces â or rather, voices â of Corkâs LGBTQIA+ community thanks in part to his chart-topping podcast Iâm Grand Mam (hosted with fellow Corkonian Kevin Twomey), is chatting with me ahead of Corkâs Pride festival. Naturally, one of my first questions relates to his experience coming out. I hate asking it, I tell him, it feels invasive.
âThe whole coming out thing, I hope we get to a stage where no one has to come out,â he says, âno hetero person has to sit down and tell their parents, basically, who they want to have sex with.âÂ
Kirby tells me the first person he ever came out to was his late father, Patrick, who was in a coma at the time.
âEveryone in the hospital said your hearing is the last thing to go so if you have anything to say, say it now. That gave me the shove to own my truth â I know how wanky that sounds â but it did. I am really grateful for that.
âI was filled with so much shame, I thought I would never come out. I thought I would never get married, never have kids. I was really in turmoil. I think that whole situation [with my dad] made me realise life is way too short and it can be taken away in two seconds.âÂ
While Kirbyâs father sadly never got the opportunity to react to his sonâs coming out, the podcaster says he feels his father âgave [him] the push I needed to come outâ.

âThere have been loads of times I felt robbed but, if I look at it from a positive angle... I donât know if he would have accepted me, I donât know how that journey would have went, but I am grateful that, that moment has led me to where I am now, really proud of who I am.âÂ
But while his first âcoming outâ experience may have a dramatic sheen to it, as time went on, the repetitiveness of the occasion led to a kind of irreverence.
âYou have to come out a million times,â he says, his vintage engagement ring twinkling against the plastic cup, âI started just getting really flippant with it.âÂ
He came out to one of his sisters driving round the roundabout out of Cork Airport (âshe nearly crashed the carâ) and his mother by casually asking, âHey Mam, guess whoâs gay?âÂ
âShe said, âOh I dunno, who?â and I said âMe.â She laughed thinking I was messing and I said, âNo, seriously.â She didnât know what to do,â he says laughing.
At the time, he thought his mother had taken the news well.
âI always thought, my mamâs gonna be so fine with it. But a year after I came out, she told me she really struggled,â he says.
âBecause she was afraid for me. She was thinking my life was gonna be so difficult. She was thinking of people being mean to me in the streets, the prejudice Iâd face. She lived through the AIDS epidemic... she had to go on a huge journey.
âNow sheâs like, the biggest ally in the world. Sheâs queen of the gays, Nuala Kirby,â he says with a grin.Â
âI was so lucky that she was just worried about me. Worry comes from love.âÂ

And when it comes to love â thereâs a lot of it in PJâs life right now.
The Blarney Street native got engaged to photographer-beau JosĂ© Galang on New Yearâs Eve 2022, who popped the question via a birthday cake iced with âWill you marry me?âÂ
Asked how the wedding planning is coming along he deadpans, âItâs not, really.âÂ
Since the engagement, heâs been touring , a one-man show about âa gay man having an identity crisisâ, writing an upcoming book with Twomey for Gill ( , out October 12), and hosting various events across Dublin as part of his role as a âmultidisciplinary creativeââ he delivers the title with an eye roll.
Does he feel the pressure, I wonder, as an openly queer man, to deliver a certain kind of wedding?

âI told my friendâs mam everyone will be wearing a dress, and she said âWhat if the lads donât want to?â I said, âOh no theyâll have to, itâs a gay wedding,â he laughs.
âBut yeah... people who know me know me, say they know the wedding will be cool and tasteful, but some other people are like âItâs going to be fabulous honey slay!âÂ
âSo, there is a bit of that. I donât want it to become a spectacle or a gimmick.Â
Kirby, who last year organised a successful fundraiser for LGBT Ireland to hire a Key Support Worker to work in the area of hate crime, says he feels he is one of âthe most privilegedâ members of the community as a white, gay cis man who can take care of himself (in , he alludes to the fact he wasnât afraid to get his knuckles out to defend himself in his youth) and with Pride, he feels a responsibility to âspeak upâ and be âvisibly queerâ for those who are still struggling to be accepted in todayâs society.
Like many of his peers, he has noticed what appears to be a poisonous spread of anti-LGBTQIA+ sentiment from the US and UK, which has taken hold in Ireland in recent times.Â
Kirbyâs fundraiser for LGBT Ireland came in the wake of the killings of Aidan Moffitt and Michael Snee in Co Sligo in 2022, which had followed the Dublin city centre assault of gay man Evan Somers, who was walking along Dame Street following a night out in The George.Â
In recent months, Pride flags have been burned in Waterford. Bricks have smashed through gay bars in Dublin.
Libraries have been issued with instructions for securing buildings as protesters attempt to remove LGTBQIA+ books for young people, drag queens have been harassed at work.Â

In May, the nation showed collective outrage as video footage emerged of a teenager being assaulted online, purportedly a victim of bullying because of his sexuality.
Kirby too experienced what life outside his âbubbleâ was like when he appeared on back in March. Dressed in a mesh top with painted nails and earrings, he says he was âripped apartâ on Facebook.
âI think Pride for me in 2023 is going to be about not being afraid to talk to those people [who donât accept members of the LGBTQIA+ community or aspects of how they live their lives].
âSaying âfuck you, youâre so stupidâ is not going to incite change. You need to be able to sit down with someone who has a completely different opinion â and yes, in the back of my mind I am thinking that opinion is wrong, everyone should have the right to live the way they want â but calling someone homophobic, all itâs going to do is make them defensive.
âIf you sit down and ask them why they believe what theyâre saying, keep asking why, then you have more of an opportunity to alter someoneâs perception.
âThere have been a few times Iâve been drinking in Cork with friends, and friends of friends will arrive, and one of the ladsâ lads might make an off-hand comment and Iâll pull him on it. Nine times out of ten, after chatting, they always go âoh, yeah,â and itâs altered the way they [think].
âI also would like to work on taking the fear out of people asking questions. I think a lot of the time, especially the older Irish community, they just donât understand. My mam, for example, doesnât understand what a non-binary person is â itâs not that she doesnât agree with them, she just doesnât understand, itâs not something she grew up with or ever had to understand.Â
"So, sometimes some of the questions sheâll ask are offensive, but her heart is in the right place. I think if their heart is in the right place, donât jump down their throat. The more we ask, the more we learn.
âWhat happened to that poor student in Navan... those kids werenât born hating someone who is different. They learned that,â he says.Â
The line left unsaid is â they can unlearn it.Â
âI am still learning too.âÂ
- PJ Kirby runs weekly dance classes in Liffey Trust studios, wearethrowingshapes.com
- He will take to the stage with podcast host Kevin Twomey at Cork Opera House on Wednesday, August 23, for a sold-out performance as part of Cork Podcast Festival,corkoperahouse.ie

