The bisexual aesthetic
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By: Victoria Marks
“I’m bisexual,” I said to my high school friend. “Really? I don’t think you are,” was her reaction. This was the first in a series of frustrating responses I’ve had since I started coming out to friends and family. Ten years later and I’m still bi, but unfortunately the rude comments I’ve gotten on the subject haven’t changed. “Do you prefer men or women?” “How many girls have you slept with?” “Are you doing this for attention?” “Are you sure?” or, the memorable “can I watch?”
Since these rude and invasive questions seem destined to follow me for the foreseeable bisexual future, let’s start by debunking some myths: bisexuality is not — contrary to popular belief — simply the sexual or romantic interest in two genders equally. It is the attraction to your own and other genders (plural), not necessarily in the same way or at the same time. It is fluid and complicated, and not always easy to explain. Bisexuality is not inherently transphobic; I’m not interested in my partners based purely on the status of their genitals, nor am I concerned with their gender identities. I’m no less selective or more promiscuous because of my orientation, and I’m certainly not bisexual for the attention or because it is “convenient.” If I’m in a heterosexual relationship I’m still just as bisexual as I was before it. If I’m in a queer relationship, I’m still, I assure you, very bi. Just because I am bisexual doesn’t mean I am more likely to cheat on you. No matter who I am dating, I am still me.
While definitions and identities may vary depending on the individual, the majority of the bisexuals I know have all experienced similar stigma; we are often pressured to “prove” ourselves. The first girl I dated didn’t think I was queer until I asked her out. “You just look so straight!” was the explanation. Years later, my crush was perplexed when I expressed an interest in him, because he was “sure I was a lesbian.” I have yet to figure out exactly what a “bisexual aesthetic” looks like — and if someone figures it out, please let me know — but the result of these interactions has been that I constantly feel the need to confirm my identity.
If I mention past girlfriends or boyfriends in conversation I almost always have to throw in the B-word to reassure the object of my attention that I am indeed still interested in them. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief after I had my first serious relationship with a woman, because it meant that I would finally have an answer to the question “how many girls have you dated?” that didn’t make me feel like a fraud. Almost every interaction that I have concerning my sexuality is an exhausting balancing act, but I don’t feel like I have another option.
Reactions from the queer community tend to be mixed. The ever-hateful Dan Savage — a supposed ambassador of gay people — has stated that he does not think that bisexuality exists, and that we are all either confused or partially closeted. It is therefore unsurprising that I feel the most welcome in LGBTQ+ circles only when I am in a queer relationship. I’ve had friends high-five or congratulate me for dating women, which makes me wonder what they think of me when I date men. The question that bounces around my head is “at what point am I queer enough to be considered a bonafide bisexual?” At what point am I unconditionally welcomed the way someone who identifies as gay or lesbian would be?
So for Pride on campus this week I have a simple request for the McMaster community: let bisexuals dictate their own identities. Don’t test us, or ask us to prove ourselves. Please stop asking us invasive personal questions about our sex lives — be inclusive of the B in LGBTQ+. And for god’s sake, stop asking us to take part in your threesomes.
Photo Credit: Amanda Watkins/Editor-in-Chief
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