Discover Top Posts Tagged with #bisexual equality

“QUEER”

First of all, let’s clear up a common misconception. Queer does not just mean gay. It’s an umbrella term for an identity which deviates from society’s perceived norm: heterosexual, or straight. Queer can refer to sexualities — gay, bisexual, pansexual, — or it can refer to being gender-queer; i.e, any label that deviates from the perceived gender norm: the binaries, male and female.

“Queer” is a reclaimed slur.

If you do not fall under the umbrella of queerness, it is safe to assume that you cannot use it. At all.

I am bisexual.

This means I experience attraction to plural genders. Pansexual also works fine. For the difference between bisexual and pansexual — see here:

Being bisexual isn’t easy. I went through similar hardships to gay women: I experienced attraction to women and was scared of what this meant for me, in such an oppressively homophobic society.

I am not saying being bisexual is harder than being gay, nor the inverse. But my experiences are distinctly bisexual, not gay.

Without further ado, here are the 3 things I’ve found to be the hardest about being queer, but not gay (enough).

#1: Finding My Place

Or, not being queer enough

I always knew I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know what I was. Up until recently, I was still questioning. This didn’t feel enough to join groups or conversations with LGBT+ folk, let alone go to pride. Was I even LGBT if I was never L, G, B, or T?

I am still yet to attend a pride, even though I identify (fairly confidently) as bisexual. I am in a relationship with a man. This is (problematically) known as a “straight-passing relationship” and makes me feel even more undeserving of a place at pride.

This has been upsetting to me at times. But for others, it can be outright devastating. Growing up and needing support, but feeling like you’re ‘not gay enough’ to ask for it? So many young people are being left alone and afraid. Finding others like you is vital to figuring out who you are. Likewise, finding spaces which are safe and inclusive is vital for anyone, regardless of their sexuality or gender identity. A friend of mine happens to be a transgender man, and he summed up the issue perfectly:

“One thing that I keep noticing is how all hangout spots are “gay bars”, or (far less common) “lesbian bars”. I’m a straight man, so I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be there, but hanging out at regular bars is still too much of a gamble, so I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

It goes without saying that gay folk aren’t always safe in these spaces, as seen by the homophobic attack on the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, in 2016. Bigotry hurts the entire LGBT+ community. Bigotry doesn’t stop to ask whether you identify as gay or otherwise queer before it pulls the trigger.

But the LGBT+ community itself is much more welcoming to those who “pick a side” and just come out as gay, already. The infighting is inexplicable when one looks to attacks such as that in Orlando: bigots don’t care which letter you are in the acronym. So why does gatekeeping exist when we need to be strong in the face of intolerance when fragmentation only makes us weaker? Who are we helping by continuing to exclude identities from the discussion?

#2: Myths and Misconceptions

Well, it stands to reason that if bisexuals are what they seem in TV and movies, why would anyone want to make them feel included? They’re “greedy” and inauthentic. They’re attention-seeking, not to mention their propensity for threesomes. Now, I haven’t been in a wild orgy yet, but it seems like it will only be a matter of time before I follow my natural path.

Straight men, in particular, need to own up to their assumption that bisexual women are down for a threesome. The thing is, we are. But not with you, you big ASSUMER.

Infidelity

All jokes aside, the stereotyping of bisexuals is not only hurtful, but leads to difficulties finding and maintaining relationships.

As I came to terms with my bisexuality, I also had to accept that I might never be fully trusted by my partner, regardless of their gender or sexuality. I was shocked when my partner reacted to my coming out with the equivalent of a shrug — so much so, that I burst into tears of gratitude that my soul-bearing moment hadn’t been met with slut-shaming or assumptions of disloyalty. Nothing has changed. If anything, our bond is even stronger for me having been more authentic after coming out.

But cruelty came from elsewhere: when I came out, I was told that my partner was to be pitied, either because I’m gay and in denial, or bound to cheat on him. The main consequence of such attitudes has been the crippling fear of coming out to my partner. It saddens me that I felt so relieved when he accepted me for being who I am, and loving him just the same as I always have.

This outcome is not the case for many couples, with straight folk worried that their bisexual partner will realise they’re gay and just leave them. This fear of abandonment comes from a place of ignorance. When the media presents bisexuality as a steppingstone on the way to “picking a team”, it’s no wonder that people struggle to trust their queer partners.

Other Queer Myths

The myth that all trans folk medically transition invalidates those who choose not to do so, and let’s not forget the ignorant jeers that it's all just a mental illness. Asexual folk battle the stereotype that they can never have a relationship and shall forever remain a virgin (because what an awful thing that would be, right?) And pansexuals… well, at the lighter end, they’re asked if they have sex with cooking utensils. But often, they’re erased as irrelevant because “we already have the label bisexual”.

This brings us onto the third and final difficulty that comes with queer folk who aren’t easily categorizable as gay: erasure.

#3: Erasure

Erasure refers to the denial of an identity’s existence or its validity as a label.

Non-binary folk face ongoing and loud claims that they simply do not exist. This is despite the historical and scientific evidence to the contrary. Plus, the most important evidence — them, existing. Asexual folk are told they simply have not found the right person yet, or that they are just afraid of sex. Demi-sexual folk are told “everyone feels like that, unless they’re just sleeping around!”. And bisexuals are dismissed as simply being in denial that they’re gay.

Monosexuality & The Gender Binary

Our culture is so built on monosexuality (being solely attracted to one gender — for instance, gay or straight). Monosexuality is reinforced through everything from marriage to dating apps, the media to what we teach in schools. People cannot fathom that someone might want to experience more than one gender in their lifetime.

The binary models of sex and gender are also deeply ingrained. These rigid belief systems combined are to blame for our inability to accept that bisexuals do not need to “pick a side”. I was paralysed by fear for 17 years because I found girls attractive and that might mean I’m gay, because bisexuals are just gays who haven’t realised they’re gay yet.

Bierasure

Bierasure is dangerous, firstly because it leads a child to have to internalise both biphobia and homophobia. For instance, I had to work through being taught to hate gayness, whilst being taught that any attraction to non-male genders made me gay.

Women were cute, and so I was gay, and this meant I was disgusting.

My own mother told me this. She also told me that something has “gone wrong in the womb” for a child to be gay. (Well, Mum, I’ve got some bad news about your womb!)And she, like any bigot, extended this theory to anyone who experiences same-sex attractions — anyone queer. This is another reason why bi-erasure is perilous. Whether you’re a gay, cis-male or a demi-bisexual, trans woman… if your parents will kick you out for being gay, they will likely kick you out for being any sort of queer.

If we deny the bigotry that bisexuals undergo, we will continue to suffer. It won’t just go away. It will fester, with bisexuals having no one they can go to who believes them. And thus:

Erasure Kills

Bullying and suicide rates of queer-but-not-gay people continue to sky-rocket. We must direct funding, support and compassion to every queer individual, as they are all vulnerable to discrimination and bullying. The problem is being left to fester. This is in part because bigots treat all queer labels as just ‘gay’, deeming them equally unworthy. This is how far erasure can go.

Conclusion

Earlier on, I stated that my experiences are distinctly bisexual. The same applies to any queer identity.

Emphasising our differing paths and struggles is important to avoid the aforementioned erasure of already less visible groups. But this does not mean that the LGBT+ community should be fragmented by these differences.

If we can unite in our hope to live authentically and love freely, we will be stronger against bigotry. We are fighting enough intolerance from without: there is no need to create more from within.

So out of everything, what’s the hardest part about being bisexual?

It’s the fact that nobody knows it’s this hard.

“What are you doing here?” The man who approached me was big. A good six inches taller than I am with burly, tattoo-wrapped arms and a chest wider than my hips strapped with a leather harness over a white ribbed tank top. He was scowling over his beer bottle like I’d moved in on his territory which, in his mind, I had.

“Just waiting for my friends,” I stammered, my face reddening to the shade of my vodka cranberry.

Do you know where you are?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “This place isn’t for you.”

That was the first time someone called me out in a space set aside for the LGBTQ community, but it was far from the last. More than a decade later, I still don’t feel safe going to gay bars alone. And this World Pride Day, just like every year, I look forward to pride celebrations with apprehension—as a bisexual, femme woman married to a cisgender man, I don’t always feel welcome at LGBTQ events.

I’d be remiss not to recognize that my position comes with a significant degree of privilege. I can “pass” as heterosexual at work and in the community. And unlike transgender or openly gay or lesbian people, my safety isn’t automatically threatened because of my identity. I’m like a queer ninja. Nobody has to know my identity until I explicitly share it.

As a bisexual, femme woman married to a cisgender man, I don’t always feel welcome at LGBTQ events.

At the same time, because I don’t fit into the stereotype of what a queer person looks like, I can’t bring my partner to gay bars without facing side-eye and the odd muttered commentary, and I’m persistently aware of how we present to the world. That’s isolating—and it never feels more so than during Pride month.

While the “B” in LGBTQ has been part of the acronym since it was first coined around 1988, many bisexual people still feel invisible within queer community. According to a report by The Movement Advancement Project, bisexual people experience significant rates of invisibility, societal rejection, violence, discrimination, and poor physical and mental health—often at rates higher than their lesbian and gay peers.

Biphobia or bisexual erasure—the still-pervasive attitude that bisexuality isn’t real or makes a person less LGBTQ than those who identify as gay or lesbian—can have a serious impact on my community’s health. While data on bisexual mental health is scarce compared to research on lesbian or gay people, several studies show that bisexuals report higher rates of anxiety, depression, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm, relative to gays and lesbians.

My experience of isolation is not unique. Research has found that bisexuals are marginalized by heterosexual, lesbian, and gay communities, and support provided by the LGBTQ community—systems which are life-saving and life-affirming for many LGBTQ people—might not be as available to bisexual people. Almost two-thirds of bisexual respondents to one survey reported hearing biphobic jokes at work, and almost half of bisexual patients have experienced biphobia from healthcare providers.

Bisexuals report higher rates of anxiety, depression, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm.

While I love my partner dearly, there’s a convivality that comes with queer community that can’t be replicated anywhere else. Unfortunately for bisexual people, especially those of us who “look straight,” these spaces can be difficult to access. As evidenced by a 2016 study, biphobia persists in the LGBTQ community, but being partnered with a heterosexual person doesn’t make a bisexual person less queer. My sexuality doesn’t change based on who I love.

And I need queer spaces to express my identity completely: Most of my social circle is heterosexual and many of my family members aren’t aware of my queerness. Biphobia in LGBTQ spaces forces me back into the closet within the very community that’s supposed to be most welcoming. That’s not only isolating for me as an individual; it can be downright destructive to the inclusivity LGBTQ communities are supposed to champion.

As many LGBTQ people can attest, it feels like exhaling to be surrounded by people who understand me. But incidences of biphobia—whether that’s a comment from a fellow bar patron or an ill-considered joke by a colleague—shatter that safety. When I see stories about whether straight people can attend pride and rules for straight couples at pride it makes me wary of how I’ll be perceived at pride events. I worry for my fellow bisexuals and pansexuals, who should feel just as welcome as gays and lesbians. Pride month is a time of celebration and remembrance for the LGBTQ community; an important time to recognize all of its members, regardless of their outward presentation.

This pride month, I want to be able to hold my partner's hand without it being seen as a betrayal of my LGBTQ family. I want to celebrate love in all forms, including mine.

One question I've never been asked is "are bi men more masculine than gay men"? But that's only because the assumption is so ingrained in the minds of some people that they wouldn't think to question it. Instead, I'm constantly asked questions that clearly assume this stereotype is true. Recently, at San Diego Pride, a gay gentleman asked me, and I quote: "Are these the colors of the bi flag? Pink, purple, and... lavender? Because I would have thought you guys would choose more 'manly' colors— you know like green and brown or something like that".

I found this question amusing for several reasons.

1) The bi colors are pink, purple, and blue (not lavender). I guess the sun was hitting our flag just wrong at that moment.

2) There's nothing inherently "feminine" about these colors. In fact, attitudes around color like this are extremely arbitrary. Just a couple of generations ago pink was regarded as the color for boys and blue was a color for girls.

3) The flag's colors were chosen very carefully. The purple between the pink and blue represents bisexuality— the combination of homosexual and heterosexual attractions.

4) Bi men aren't all perfect examples of our culture's "masculine" ideals (which are also arbitrary and constantly evolving, anyway).

5) There are bi people besides men, and they deserve to be represented by the bisexual flag just as much as we guys do.

I had quite a few reasons to laugh at this fellow's question, but I resisted the impulse. Instead, I carefully explained all of these things to him. I then added that some bi guys feel fetishized by certain gay men who see our sexuality as a kind of kink— a chance to be with a "macho" guy. After all, bi guys are attracted to women— and that somehow makes us more manly, right?

NO! (Forgive the bluntness, but this premise, underlying the gentleman's entire question, is just so insanely homophobic and sexist that it deserves a blunt reply). Why is this assumption sexist, homophobic, and biphobic? Well:

1) It assumes that gay men are more "feminine" than straight or bi men. I mean, I've met some gay guys who better embody "masculine" stereotypes than I do. Who hasn't?

2) It assumes that being "feminine" is somehow undesirable or inferior to being "masculine." While it may be that this particular gay man prefers "masculine" guys, not all gay men do. Not all people do.

3) It assumes that bi men are all more "masculine" than gay men. As I've already stated, this is not true. Being attracted to women doesn't automatically make someone masculine. In my case, it makes me bi (and sexual orientation is quite distinct from gender performance).

4) Just like colors, ideas of "masculinity" are culturally determined and extremely arbitrary.

In short, being a bi man isn't about being a gay guy's "masculine" fantasy. Who can really meet all of the impossible standards set by our culture's oppressive idea of "masculinity"? Bisexuality is about liking more than one gender. That's it. If you've never met a "feminine" bi guy, you haven't been looking. Just like not all lesbians are "butch" and not all gay men are "queens," not all bi guys are a fantasy of "masculinity". Our sexual orientation is more than your porn fetish. Sorry.

Now, don't get me wrong. Personally, I don't mind being fetishized in this way. I think fetishes of all sorts are related to taboos and who am I to judge what consenting adults do with one another for fun? Please don't let the sexist assumptions that fuel your fetishes infect your worldview as it relates to an entire group of people. Let's all just be ourselves, date whomever we like, enjoy whatever fetishes we have (even those inspired by taboos), and not be jerks about it.

So, if you're someone who fetishizes "masculine" stereotypes, cool. That's fine. That's between you and your partner(s)— and maybe your search history. But it's totally unrelated to bisexuality. Please don't assume all bi guys are exactly the same. Bi guys exist, even if some of them aren't your type.

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The bisexual community with in it’s self not toxic we fight everyday to get heard, understood, and most importantly representation in all aspects cuz we as bisexuals feel like we have to prove our self twice as hard to the lgbtq community and straight community just to show them we exist where not a joke or phase or a myth we are real and we are never toxic what so ever

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Do Any Bisexual Men Exist