This is a very personal post and, quite frankly, I do not give a fuck how it makes you feel. But, of course, disclaimer: this is my own narrative and does not represent every single person in the queer community, probably up to and including you. So please do not tell me my experience is “wrong.”
I have, for most of my life, considered myself an ally of the queer community. I did not think gay people were an abomination, and I believed they deserved all the same rights as straight people, including the right to be treated like a human being. This is not to say that I did not engage in problematic straight behaviors, because I did, but I have learned what I’ve done that’s wrong, and with more and more education, I strive to be as inoffensive and unproblematic as possible. (This is not limited to sexuality, but also race, culture, gender, and a whole host of other identities that cause problematic behaviors by the dominant identity.)
I will demystify this post right now: I now identify as bisexual.
Whomp, there it is. This identity is something that I have considered before, but had not felt was right for me up until recently. To be fair, I have never really loudly identified as straight either, because that too did not feel right, but in the wonderful heteronormative world that we live in (sarcasm, if that was not clear), by not identifying as anything, we often get identified as the “default.” Coupled with the fact that I have mostly been in heterosexual relationships, people assume I am heterosexual. (I won’t digress but friendly reminder that one heterosexual relationship, or even literally five hundred for that matter, does not a heterosexual make necessarily.)
Even before this decision to change my identity, perhaps because of my history as an ally, perhaps because of my history as a person who has been attracted to multiple genders, I was invested in gay rights issues. But while I was vocal about my support, if there was ever an actual queer-identifying person in my general vicinity, I did the decent thing and shut the fuck up because this was their experience; therefore, their voice mattered more than mine. And while I do not think this change of identity now entitles me to shout over the queer voices that I previously gave top billing to, I do now have an experience as a member of the queer community that I don’t believe I had before, so I can at least speak about it at a reasonable volume. (Another friendly reminder: I am a cisgender, white, reasonably well-off female. Which, as I disclaimed, makes my experience likely very different from others in the community. But I still want to talk about it.)
I did not really want to discuss the context for this post, but now I feel it is both inevitable and necessary: I am currently in a relationship with a woman. Whomp, there it is, redux. When I told my mother this (yes mom, I know you read this and yes, I’m throwing you under the bus right now because some of the things you did when I told you were extremely offensive and inappropriate), she was largely accepting because she’s a mostly well-intentioned, if slightly misguided by her generation, person. But she also asked me if I was going to “start dressing like a dyke” and that she “always knew [I was] a lesbian” because I wore things like button down shirts. Which brings me to the serious issue I have with the straight community:
Queer women do not all look the same, dress the same, act the same. When you think of a “lesbian,” the fact that you’re only imagining one type of person means that you are stereotyping and making assumptions, not that someone who doesn’t fit that image isn’t gay.
I cannot believe it is the year of our lord and savior (Beyoncé) 2015 and I have to actually write this. People still think it’s completely appropriate to say shit like “but you don’t look gay!” as if we only have one look. (Derek Zoolander screaming in disbelief “One look? ONE LOOK?!” springs to mind. Hence the gif.) I don’t go around telling dudes “but you don’t look straight!” if they don’t look like the pinnacle of masculinity that is Idris Elba — and let’s face it, none of you do, so if that was the standard of male heterosexuality, y’all’d be gay. People would think I was crazy if I made the assumption that there was only one correct way to be straight…so why do straight people assume not only that there’s only one way to be gay, but also, that if there is, they get to define it?
People who get to define aspects of the queer community: members of the queer community. People who don’t: everybody else. Them’s the breaks.
Now I know what you’re thinking, kids. I have just written a lot about the proper way to be a lesbian (and if I’ve done my job right, you know there’s no such thing!) yet…didn’t I just write that I identify as bisexual? And Kate, isn’t that not actually the same thing as identifying as homosexual? If you are thinking this, congratulations! You’re right! Also, congratulations! You’re better than basically everyone on this planet. Which brings me to the serious issue I have with both the straight and queer communities:
Bisexuality is: a valid sexuality. Bisexuality is not: the same thing as homosexual, the same thing as heterosexual, not really queer, a “layover on the way to gay town”, greedy, slutty, experimenting in college, lesbian until a Real Man(tm), “a term that gay guys in high school use” or a whole host of other things that both straight and queer people, for some strange reason, think it is.
When I told friends about my relationship, some of them, both straight and queer, started referring to me as gay (clearly meaning homosexual) or immediately asked “so you’re a lesbian now?”
Seriously? Bisexuality is a real thing that people identify as! It’s not just me! Why are we acting like this is a dirty word? Straight people invalidate the experiences of bi people by calling them homosexuals. It’s ignorant and offensive, but straight people have always been known for that. What’s worse, in my opinion, is the queer community doing almost the exact same thing. Again, you’re probably thinking right now, isn’t the queer community a safe space where everything is supportive and positive and it’s a place to go when you feel downtrodden by the heteronormative world?
Apparently not if you’re bisexual. No really, some people in the LGBTQ+ community are of the mind that if you’re bisexual but in a heterosexual relationship, Pride isn’t for you and you don’t deserve to be there as much as lesbians and gay men. (Because apparently, the B in that alphabet soup stands for bumblebees, and the G stands for gross.) The reason this is awful — besides, you know, obviously — is three-fold: it affirms the completely wrong ideas that someone’s bisexuality somehow changes depending on their relationship, someone’s bisexuality would in no way inform their heterosexual relationship, and those who identify as bisexual aren’t “gay enough” for the gay community. To that I say:
Perhaps it is stupid of me, but I hold y’all to a higher standard than straight people. They’re allowed to be idiots, because the world will still prize them above everybody else, god only knows why. But a marginalized community gotta #staywoke. So I expected more from you, and you utterly failed me.
For the record, I enjoyed my relationships with men. I do not regret them and I don’t look back on them like, what was I thinking? I clearly only like girls! This is why I am identifying as bisexual. I don’t want date a man right now because one, I rather like the lady I’m with now and two, most men make me tired just being their friend. (When you live the life of an anti-imperialist feminist queer graduate student smashing the heteronormative white patriarchy, it’s hard not to. Sorry not sorry, bros.) But I don’t rule out the idea and I am certainly still attracted to men. Well, some anyway.
Meanwhile, it’s really refreshing to be able to affirm my attractions to women as legitimate expressions of my sexuality. And yes, I had to allow myself to do this. As a narcissist, I did not have the tormented, queer Britney Spears “I’m not a straight, not yet a gay girl” feelings. (Also, I am going through this official identity revelation in my 20s. I had hunches of this in my angsty teen years, but back then, I was so repelled by any and all humans, I was also slightly convinced I was asexual. If you know me at all now, you too are laughing at the irony.) But I did suppress same gender attraction. I called women “girlcrushes” who “I’d go gay for” (a shining example of one of those problematic straight behaviors I talked about) because I assumed that, because I had been in heterosexual relationships, I was basically heterosexual. I was doing to myself what I was getting upset at other people for doing: I was policing my sexuality. It has taken being in a relationship with a woman for me to realize, not just theoretically, that I like more than one gender. And that is why now I am identifying as such.
It didn’t necessarily take time for me to accept that I was something other than straight, but I did struggle trying to decide just what that something would be. Thanks to the evolution of identity knowledge and the beauty of information sharing because of the digital age, there is a whole multitude of identities one can choose from and feel like they belong to. (Or not, because that’s their prerogative too.) I considered just taking on the umbrella term “queer” because it’s explanatory without being restrictive. And having that freedom is helpful right now, because this experience is new. I also considered the term “pansexual” because that’s attraction to any gender, and that also sort of feels like where I’m at right now.
But ultimately, I have chosen “bisexual” for a couple of reasons.
One, because bisexuality is attraction to the same gender and different genders. (No, don’t let Latin trick you into thinking it means explicitly men and women. No, don’t let Wikipedia trick you into thinking it means explicitly men and women. And for the love of god no, don’t let biphobics trick you into thinking it not only means explicitly men and women, but that bisexuals reinforce the gender binary and therefore, are toxic to the queer community.) That is fairly similar to pansexual, however, some pansexuals see their sexuality as “attraction regardless of gender.” And I am finding that gender does matter to me — not whether or not I am attracted, but how I am attracted. I like different things in my genders.
Two, because there is a political component to bisexuality that pansexuality does not necessarily have (or at least more so, because I of course recognize that any queer identity comes with politics). I was actually, at first, very reluctant to identify as bi. Why? I feel like I have already addressed this with my own even limited experience of bi-erasure, but in case that wasn’t clear: people — even people who pride themselves on being accepting people — do not always accept bisexuals! This is a community that seems to be rejected by everyone, because they aren’t “gay enough” or they aren’t “straight enough” or they’re just un-picky nymphomaniacs or literally a million other things that imply that bisexuals aren’t marginalized/aren’t normal/aren’t capable of real relationships. So why would I ever willingly choose to adopt this identity? (Bearing in mind that who I am attracted to in no way hinges on whatever terminology I decide. I was attracted to my gender before I chose “bisexual” and if I ever go with a different term, I still will be. No one chooses their sexuality and that is not what I am saying here. But there is overlap in sexual identities that affords some choice in what you identify as.) Because, as I said, bisexual does feel like a better fit. But also because I am an inherently political person (as an IR grad student and the resident radical liberal in my family); I will take on the identity that no one seems to know what to do with, and I will shove it in everyone’s faces.
I have been ruminating on this post for some time now. It is all still true and the things I talked about are still things that burn my toast when it comes to identifying as bi. But, it isn’t all bad. I swear.
I went to my first Pride as a bisexual in June, and that was great. I wore a bi flag as a top and posted a photo of me in it to Instagram and Facebook. I guess I came out that way. No one really said anything except nice things or liked the photos, so I either have really cool people on social media or no one sees my posts. (Both are just as likely.)
Because it sometimes sucks to be a bisexual, the community of bisexuals are awesome. Two of my friends (and now me) run the tumblr angrybisexuals, which yes, includes things that make us angry, but is mostly full of hilarious text posts about how great it is to be bi.
I’m happy that I call this something and it’s there and now an important part of me, but I’m not agonizing over it nor is it the only thing about me. I think more about my Master’s degree, coffee, paprika chips which America has not stolen from Europe much to my chagrin, feminism, how much I can blog about pop culture, tweeting anything I vaguely think about, hip hop’s influence on society, among other things. Maybe it’s cause I have felt attraction to ladies before so this identity revelation wasn’t exactly a revelation, but the bi identity (or bidentity, if you’ll let me pun) hasn’t really changed me. I still bitch about society’s gender problems while listening to extremely misogynist rap. I still instagram most of my meals and take a lot of selfies on snapchat and drink way too much wine after I get home from work. Everything else about me didn’t go away so I’ve become one defining trait. I was Kate: crop top and brunch enthusiast. Now I’m Kate: crop top and brunch enthusiast, but like also, bisexual.
My girlfriend is super awesome, both in the general way and specifically about me being bi — and truly discovering that fact as I began a relationship with her. We talk about biphobia and bierasure a lot, and I get really fucking angry and so does she. Sometimes I worry that I talk about it too much and she’s tired of me ranting. (When that happens, I try to switch our conversation back to Captain America 2 or Mako Mori.) She’s been really understanding of me not always knowing exactly what I want to say in public about this or us, which I am immensely grateful for.
But now, here I am, with a very public blog post about both this and us. Because it’s Bisexual Visibility Day and to not say anything about me and my bisexuality would be to remain invisible. And I no longer want to do that. I started writing this post in June. I’m ready to publish it today.
I am complicated. I am more than my sexuality.
But I am bisexual. I am legitimate, I am real, I am visible.
