Dear Bailey & Jace,

I always thought I was straight. I had queer friends growing up, a sister who dated women, and bi and lesbian friends who joked that they’d try to “turn me gay,” but I never felt any attraction to women. Then around 25, I noticed I was maybe attracted to a woman, but I brushed it off as just thinking she was pretty. Now, ten years later, I’ve cut off my abusive family and I’m finding my voice after years of feeling suppressed and mute. And at the same time, I’m experiencing this continuously budding attraction to women. It doesn’t feel like curiosity. It feels like identity, which is exciting but also really destabilizing. I always imagined myself with a man, maybe marrying a man and having children. Now it feels like my life plan has suddenly become more complex, maybe richer, but still more complex. Is this what it’s like sometimes? How do I come out to myself when I’m not even sure what to do with what I’m feeling? And how do I start exploring this when the nerves make me want to run away?

Sincerely,
Bi, Not Curious

A.

Dear Bi, Not Curious,

Sometimes our identity arrives like a trumpet blast then you and everyone around you cheers and starts throwing a parade. More often it arrives like a wet cat at the back door: pissed off, shaking, yours through destiny, and ready to ruin your evening plans.

Beloved, it sounds to me that you’ve spent a long time surviving. I get that. When you grow up in an abusive environment, your body and mind are not usually sitting around asking, “What is the fullest, freest, most erotically and romantically honest version of me?” They are trying to get you through the day. They are trying to keep you safe. They are trying to make sure you don’t become a bigger target.

So, here you are: You’ve cut off the toxic parts of your family tree, you’re finding your voice (which can be a lot more complicated when you’ve been forced to be mute for most of your life), and you’ve started to notice a budding attraction to women. My reaction isn’t: “Hm, weird!” It’s: “Of course your inside thoughts got louder when you were finally allowed to listen to yourself.”

This part isn’t for you but I feel compelled to say it anyway: Abuse doesn’t make people bisexual or queer or whatever other shitty takes conservatives have.

But trauma can bury parts of us. It can make certain feelings inaccessible. It can teach us that wanting anything is dangerous. It can train us to follow the safest script available, and for a lot of people, that script is heterosexuality. Not because heterosexuality is fake, but because it is often the path of least resistance.

You may have been attracted only to men for a long time. But you may have also had attraction to women sitting somewhere deep inside of you.

Right now, you’re experiencing a shift. People love to tell tidy coming-out stories because tidy stories are easier to put on tote bags. “I always knew.” “I had a crush on my best friend in kindergarten.” “I watched The Mummy and my bisexuality descended from the heavens in a beam of Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz-shaped light.”

And sure, sometimes that is true. Beautiful. Love that for them.

But not everyone always knew. Some people figure it out in their teens. Some people figure it out in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, after marriage, after divorce, after childbirth, after loss, after sobriety, after therapy, after leaving religion, after leaving an abusive family, on and on.

So, You’re Curious

Now, let’s talk about the “bi, not curious” part, because I think you already know something important.

Curiosity is lovely. Curiosity gets a bad reputation because people sometimes use “bi-curious” to mean “I would like to borrow bisexuality and return it when it becomes inconvenient.” But curiosity itself is not the enemy. Curiosity is how we learn.

What I hear in your letter, though, is that this does not feel like a little question mark floating around your head. It feels deeper than that. It feels like recognition. Shaky recognition, maybe, but recognition all the same.

You are allowed to say, “I think I’m bi,” before you have a résumé of experiences. You are allowed to say, “I don’t know what this means yet, but I know it means something.” You are allowed to claim the identity in the privacy of your own mind. You are allowed to be scared of what this new identity might mean for your life.

Because yes, realizing you may be bi can make things feel more complex. People sometimes want us to pretend queerness is only be glitter and brunch. And listen, queerness can be joy. It can be hot. It can be funny. It can give you access to community, language, history, and parts of yourself you didn’t know existed.

It can also be, as you’ve so aptly said, destabilizing.

You had a plan. A man. Marriage. Maybe children. A recognizable future. And now your inner self has walked into the room and said, “What if there are other doors?” which is very rude behavior. Some of us were trying to get through fucking Pride season.

A more complex life is not necessarily a ruined life. Sometimes complexity is the cost of honesty.

The Road Less Traveled (something, something, Robert Frost)

I want to challenge the idea that attraction to women means your imagined future with a man disappears. It doesn’t. You can be bi and marry a man. You can be bi and have children. You can be bi and build a life that looks, from the outside, very similar to the life you once pictured. The difference is that you would be entering that life with more truth about yourself, not less.

Bisexuality does not mean every possible future must be pursued, which I think Jace and I have talked a lot about this season, particularly in the episodes on monogamy and marriage. It means more than one kind of future may be possible.

Abundance and overwhelm all at once.

So what do you do?

You do not have to decide today whether you will date women, marry a woman, come out publicly, change your wardrobe, update your dating apps, or become the mayor of Bisexual Township (though given the potential voting block power of the bi+ population, you could win in a landslide).

Right now, your job is to make room for your potential. The good news is that act can look very small. Read bi+ books. Listen to bi+ podcasts, and I say that as a completely unbiased podcast host with no agenda whatsoever. Follow bi+ creators. Journal without trying to be correct. Let yourself notice attraction without immediately cross-examining yourself. “Do I want to be her? Do I want to be with her? Do I want her jacket? Do I want her hand on my lower back in a kitchen at midnight?” Sometimes the answer is yes to several.

You can also practice saying it in low-stakes ways by asking yourself:

• “I might be bi.”

• “I think I’m attracted to women.”

• “I’m figuring out my sexuality.”

• “I don’t think I’m straight.”

• “I’m bi.”

See what happens in your body. Not because your body will give you a perfect answer, but because it may tell you which words feel like a locked door and which words feel like a window opening.

On Dating

Shifting gears a little bit: Let’s talk about connecting with women.

You are grown, yes, but you are also new at this. Being new does not make you childish. It just makes you new. And because it just makes you new, I want to (lovingly) call bullshit on one part of your letter: “the nerves would make this grown woman run away.” Maybe they would. The first time. Maybe even the second time. So what?

Do not accept the narrative that you are simply “too scared” to engage with women, as if fear is a personality trait instead of a feeling. Fear is not an oracle.

You are scared because this is new. You are scared because it matters. You are scared because you find women are beautiful and intimidating. That does not mean you are incapable. It means you are under-practiced. I’m getting real tired of bi+ people telling me they can’t do something, can’t even try, because they are afraid.

Dating is a skill. Flirting is a skill. Tolerating the feeling of being perceived is, unfortunately, a skill. You are not born knowing how to ask a woman out without your nervous system trying to fake its own death. You learn by doing it badly, surviving, and doing it again slightly less badly.

If you try to flirt with a woman and panic, congratulations, you have joined a proud queer tradition. Half of queer history is people making intense eye contact with someone across a room and then immediately looking at a wall like that dog meme.

So don’t make “I’m too scared” your identity. Make “I’m learning” your identity.

You want some real advice? I’ll tell you what I tell everyone: You do not need to leap directly into dating if dating feels like being asked to set yourself on fire. Start with community. Start with spaces where you can be around queer women and bi+ people without the immediate pressure of romance or sex. Book clubs. Social events. Classes. Volunteer groups. May I interest you in the Bisexual Resource Center?

Let yourself be around the possibility of women before you demand that you act on it.

And when you do feel ready to connect with someone, you are allowed to be honest.

“I’m newer to dating women, and I’m a little nervous, but I’d like to get to know you.” The right person will not be horrified by that (and I won’t pretend that I haven’t seen this regressive take on social media). The wrong person may be weird about it, and then you will have learned something useful: not your person, not your door, keep walking.

Caring For Yourself

And because your letter is tied to abuse and finding your voice, I do want to say that it might be worth working through this with a trauma-informed therapist if you have access to one, especially someone queer-affirming (maybe you’re already doing this, but the advice remains). Not because your sexuality is a problem to solve or anything weird like that, but because your nervous system sounds like it has been through a war and is now trying to process all this fresh destabilization.

That’s a lot to carry alone.

You are allowed to need support. You are allowed to be both thrilled and freaked out. You are allowed to mourn the simplicity of the old story even if the old story was too small for you.

Because that’s the thing people don’t always tell you about becoming yourself: sometimes it feels amazing, and sometimes it feels like losing the person you were pretending to be. Even if pretending helped you survive. Even if the old plan was comforting.

But I don’t think you wrote to us because you want to “unknow” this. I think you wrote because some part of you wants permission to trust it.

So here is my permission, for what it’s worth: Trust that something real may be happening. Trust that you do not have to know exactly what it means yet. Trust that attraction can emerge, shift, deepen, or finally become visible when you are safer. Trust that being nervous does not mean you are wrong. Trust that your life becoming more complex does not mean it is falling apart.

It may be getting bigger. And yes, bigger can be scary. Bigger means more rooms to walk into. More versions of yourself to meet. More chances to be clumsy. More chances to want something you don’t yet know how to hold.

You will learn.

With love & admiration,
Bailey

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’m a bisexual man who has never been in a relationship. I’ve never really attempted dating either. I was bullied in high school, and I’ve had no one even attempt to date me after that. I’m currently at university and I’m struggling to even make friends. Dating feels like climbing Everest! I’m worried about what will happen when I finish university next year and enter the real world because of it all. I tried societies and they all felt cliquey, and when I tried to get to know people I’ve been told I’m “too nice” or “AI”. And my crushes on people (2 since I’ve started) have gone absolutely nowhere. Any advice on how to deal with this? Or any dating advice, really.

Sincerely,
Bi-Myself

A.

Dear Bi-Myself,

Before I get into this, I need you to know something that people do not say often enough: life gets so much better after college.

And then it gets even better, if still occasionally stupid, when your brain finishes forming in your mid-20s and you stop treating every awkward interaction like it has been entered into evidence at the International Court of Personal Failure.

That’s not me trying to patronize you with, “Baby, just hold on, it gets better.” People told me that shit when I was 20 and it made me want to eat cedar chips and foam at the mouth. What you’re feeling is real. Loneliness is real. Being bullied changes the way you move through the world. Being treated like you are unwanted or strange at an age when everyone is already a raw nerve wearing deodorant is not something you just shrug off because you got a student email address.

So I’m not going to tell you this is all in your head. I am going to tell you that your head may have become an untrue narrative because of what happened to you.

When you have been bullied, ignored, rejected, or socially punished for existing, you start walking into every room already braced for impact. But the truth is: You are not doomed. You are inexperienced. Those are different things.

And I want to underline that because people are very weird about dating experiences. But dating is not a language some people are born speaking. It is a skill. You can learn a skill.

So here’s where I’d start:

Stop treating rejection like a verdict.

When you’ve been bullied, every new rejection feels like it is confirming the original wound. Someone doesn’t text back, and suddenly it’s not, “This person is busy.” It becomes, “See? I knew it. I am fundamentally undesirable.”

That is the old bullying talking. And I mean this with love: that bitch is a liar.

If someone doesn’t want to date you, that tells you they are not available to you in “that way.” That’s it. It does not tell you that you are ugly. It does not tell you that everyone will feel the same. It does not mean you should retreat forever.

People tell me no all the time (I know, shocking. Have you seen my lipstick?). I pitch things. I flirt. I try. I get ignored. I get rejected. I get left on read. It hurts for a second, because I have feelings. Then I remember, “Well, if they don’t want me, why the fuck should I care?” Not in a bitter way. More like: my people will want me. If someone doesn’t, that is useful information. It frees me to keep moving.

Work on being less “nice” and more real.

When people, especially men, are told they are “too nice,” it usually doesn’t mean, “You are too kind, generous, and moral, and we simply cannot bear the radiance of your ethical splendor.” It often means the way you are communicating feels too ingratiating, too formal, too complimentary, and/or too eager to please.

And listen: That is more often a trauma response than not.

A lot of people who were bullied learn to fawn. You become pleasant. You become accommodating. You try to make yourself harmless. You over-explain. You compliment too much. You become so careful not to offend anyone that you sand down all your edges until there is no texture left for someone else to connect with.

You may be thinking, “But, Bailey, I mean what I say! I’m being sincere!”

I know, honey. I believe you. But sometimes sincerity without…grounding can feel like performance. If someone barely knows you and you’re giving them paragraph-long compliments or responding like a customer service chatbot that has recently discovered empathy, they may not know what to do with that. They may feel like you’re trying to win their approval rather than be present with them.

That might be where “AI” is coming from. Not because you are a haunted toaster, but because your communication may feel too agreeable.

Practice having preferences out loud. Not controversial political takes in the middle of someone’s birthday party. Don’t become That Guy. But small preferences like:

• “I actually hated that movie.”

• “I love this band, but their last album was a crime.”

• “I’m not a club person, but I’ll go anywhere with good fries.”

• “I like board games, but Monopoly makes me sick.”

• “I’m trying to get better at meeting people, so I’m forcing myself outside like a Victorian child with rickets.”

Texture. Specificity. A little humor. A little self-knowledge. That’s what makes you feel like a person instead of a Google Home.

Stop trying to break into cliquey spaces. Find activity-based spaces instead.

Fuck societies. Okay, maybe not all societies. Some societies are great. Some are full of nerds sharing biscuits under fluorescent lighting. But if you have tried societies and they felt cliquey, stop trying to force yourself through that door.

University societies can become weird little social kingdoms where everyone is pretending not to care while desperately trying to be seen as valuable. Instead of chasing friendship in places organized around status, go to places organized around activity.

Board games. Video games. Film screenings. Book clubs. Climbing. Running groups. Language exchanges. Volunteering. Queer meetups. Life drawing. Dungeons & Dragons (seriously, that one). Community gardens. Whatever makes you think, “I would probably enjoy this even if I didn’t meet the love of my life there.”

Do not go into every social space scanning for romance. Go because you want to build a life. Dating is much easier when it is one part of a full life rather than the only door through which you believe happiness can enter.

Friendship is not a consolation prize for romance. Friendship is the ecosystem that makes romance less terrifying. And yes, I know you said you are struggling to make friends too. So here is an annoying but true thing: making friends requires consistency more than chemistry. You can’t go to one event, feel weird, decide everyone hates you, and then disappear forever.

You have to become a recurring character.

Show up to the same thing several times. Let people get used to your face. Say hello to the same people. Ask low-stakes questions. Remember one detail and bring it up next time. “How did that assignment go?” “Did you ever finish that game?” “You said you were looking for a new flat…any luck?” Friendship is built out of tiny acts of recognition.

Lower the stakes around dating without lowering your standards.

Dating feels like Everest because you are looking at the summit instead of the next step.

You are not trying to find The One by Friday. You are trying to learn how to talk to people you find interesting. That’s it. Start there.

Also, a date is not a marriage audition. A crush is not a quest. It is information and a chance to learn what you like, what you don’t like, and what kind of people make you feel more like yourself.

Try apps if you want, but treat them like a tool. Put effort into your profile. Use photos where you look like a real person who goes outside at least quarterly. Write prompts that show specificity. Not “I like music and movies.” Everyone likes music and movies.

Go with something like:

• “I will defend this terrible album until the day I die.”

• “Looking for someone who wants to find the best dumplings in the city.”

• “Currently trying to become the kind of person who has a favorite museum.”

• “I’m great at pub quizzes except for sports. Can you help?”

Give people something to respond to.

And when you message people, don’t open with a worship ceremony. No “You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen and your eyes contain the sorrow of the moon.” Save that for your gothic novella. Start with something simple but specific from their profile. Ask a question. Make a joke. Keep it light.

Also, think about texting as a medium. Some people are not good on paper. Some texters sound like they are either filing taxes or being held hostage. If that’s you, don’t try to become a digital flirt overnight. Move toward in-person connection when appropriate.

“I’m enjoying talking to you. Want to grab coffee this week?”

Build confidence with practice.

I know everyone tells lonely people to “just be confident,” which is the least helpful advice in the world. It is like telling someone with a broken ankle to “make the hobble hot.”

Confidence is not something you summon because a podcast host with good eyeliner told you to. Confidence is built through evidence. You need to start collecting evidence that you can survive discomfort.

That means practicing rejection. Not because rejection is fun. Rejection is ass. Rejection makes your nervous system behave like you are being hunted for sport. But rejection is also survivable, and the only way your body learns that is through repetition.

Start small. Ask someone from class if they want to grab coffee after a lecture. Ask someone at an event what got them interested in the topic. Message someone from a hobby group and say, “Hey, I’m trying to get out more. Would you want to check out this thing next week?”

Some people will say yes. Some people will say no. Some people will say, “Yeah, definitely!” and then vanish into the mist. That last group is very popular. Try not to take it personally.

The point is not to become immune to rejection. The point is to stop letting rejection run your life like a tiny tyrant in a little hat.

Date yourself first. I know. I’m sorry.

I hate when people say “date yourself” because it sounds like something written in pink cursive (yeah, yeah, our whole season has been about this). But unfortunately, the advice is good.

I’m not convinced you would date yourself right now. Not because you are undateable, but because I don’t think you are seeing yourself clearly.

So take yourself on dates. Go to the café. See the film. Visit the museum. Cook yourself something that didn’t come from a packet. Wear clothes that make you feel like a person you respect. Move your body in a way that feels good. Get a haircut if you want one. Learn what you enjoy when you are not auditioning for approval.

You need a relationship with yourself that is not built entirely around critique. Because if you don’t know what you like, what you value, what makes you feel good, what kind of life you want, and what kind of person you are becoming, then dating becomes less about connection and more about begging someone to validate your existence.

That is too much pressure to put on another person. Also, it attracts the wrong people.

You want to approach dating from a place of, “I am building a life, and I’d like to share parts of it with someone,” not, “Please rescue me from the burning building of my self-esteem.”

Get support for the bullying wound.

Therapy would probably help. I know that is the most predictable advice in the world, but predictable doesn’t mean wrong.

People who were bullied often carry that trauma much longer than they realize. You may have learned to expect rejection before connection has a chance to form. You may be interpreting neutral social signals as negative ones. You may be trying so hard to seem safe that you disappear yourself.

You deserve support with that.

A support group could help, too, especially one for bi+ people or bi+ men. You deserve to be around people who understand the particular weirdness of being a bi man in a world that often treats y’all as either invisible, suspicious, secretly gay, not queer enough, or some other exhausting nonsense from the clearance bin of biphobia.

You deserve mirrors. You deserve peers. You deserve to hear other people say, “Oh, yeah, I’ve felt that too,” and realize you are not uniquely broken. You are having a human experience under shitty conditions.

And generally, go to bi+ events. If you’re in the UK (and maybe I’m making mad assumptions from your letter), there are bi+ organizations and community spaces there, including Biscuit. Look for local LGBTQ+ centers, bi+ meetups, queer book clubs, online communities, and events that are specifically for bi+ people rather than just vaguely queer spaces.

Remember that university is not the whole world.

The good thing about leaving university is that you are no longer trapped inside a social aquarium with people whose brains are still buffering. After university, you can build a life around your actual interests, values, politics, routines, and communities. You can meet people who are not all the same age, not all in the same weird institutional pressure cooker, and not all trying to become president of the Cheese Appreciation Society for résumé reasons (though, I’d be a proud, card-carrying member).

You may find that you do better outside university. Some of us are not built for those environments. Some of us bloom in spaces where people have jobs, rent, hobbies, and enough life experience to stop treating differences like a rash.

But you don’t have to wait until graduation to begin. You do not need to become a social butterfly. You need to become someone who can keep showing up, keep practicing, and keep believing that your life is not over because it has not started in the way you expected.

Beloved, you are not behind. You are beginning.

Beginning can feel like everyone else is watching, even though most people are too busy thinking about their own hair, debt, crush, dissertation, etc. Beginning means being clumsy. It means asking someone out and fumbling the wording. It means going to an event and standing there with a drink like a socially awkward lamp post. It means trying again after your body screams, “Absolutely not, we have already experienced embarrassment and I would like to retire.”

But beginning is how you get a life.

Not a perfect life. A real life. One with friends you did not know you would meet, dates that go nowhere but teach you something, dates that go somewhere, rooms where you feel less strange, and eventually people who like you not because you performed “normal” well enough, but because you became more fully yourself.

You are not unlovable. You are under-practiced, under-supported, and probably much harder on yourself than you deserve.

Dating is Everest only if you think you have to reach the summit today, right this very second. You don’t. Today, you just need to put on your boots and take one step.

Get yourself out there,
Bailey

Hey, everyone! We hope you’re all taking very good care of yourselves amidst the fires of late stage capitalism. We hope that you’re drinking plenty of water and resting, but also engaging in your communities and helping where you can.

With Pride season heating up for Bailey in Boston and at the Bi+ Equal Conference for Jace, we’re feeling the distinct pinch that comes from organizing. As of this writing, while we are done recording season 5 and Richie is editing, there’s not a ton of free time right now. Because of that, we are taking a break this summer from our personal essays.

Now, you might be wondering what we’ll be doing with our ample free time!

Well, if you recall, we are working on a book and we’ve got a whole dang draft due at the end of July. So, what we really need is some time to dedicate to that project. In preparation for the break, we’re scheduling out as much content as possible. Which means that you, dear reader, will still enjoy fresh Give It To Me Bi+ advice columns every other week. And maybe, if we’re feeling frisky, we might post some updates and/or rants about whatever we’re writing about for the book.

We’re sorry, sweethearts, but we hope that you understand the circumstances. The sooner we’re done standing on business, the sooner we can get back to writing about bi+ representation in media (the new Lestat show is gonna be a whole thing).

Okay, love you, bi:
Bailey & Jace

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’m out and proud as a bisexual woman. I love who I am, and I do my best to embody the bisexual killjoy spirit that you talk about on the podcast. But honestly, I’m not looking forward to Pride this year.

I’ve been seeing so much biphobia online, and it feels like more than the typical “bi women and their boyfriends” stuff from years before. I’m scared that if I go to pride events in my city, I’ll just feel like an outcast, be “quizzed” on my queerness, or told to go away.

Any advice on how to keep going strong despite it all?
How do I even show up and get excited over Pride with all this anxiety?

Sincerely,
Feeling Invisible

A.

Dear Feeling Invisible,

First of all, kudos to you for embodying the Bisexual Killjoy spirit! The most important part of the journey is always recognizing yourself and standing proud in that knowledge. Kudos to you for embracing your own authenticity!

Second, I relate so much to the feelings you’re describing here. As Bi+ women, we’re often the scapegoats for all the community’s ills. And yes, the biphobia does feel especially strong this year. Please know that this is not our fault in any way. It’s never our fault that the haters seem to have infinite reserves of hate.

It’s also okay to feel hesitant about going to pride events. I want to validate these concerns you’re feeling, because we cannot do ourselves the injustice of ignoring our own instincts. (That’s what the patriarchy wants us to do, and we ain’t giving in.)

It’s also important to show up even when we hesitate. Because representation is important, visibility is important, taking up space is important.

So, how do we both honor our instincts and still choose to show up? We prepare.

Building Your Pride Survival Kit

• Buddy System

  • We use this term lightly. Take a buddy, a whole group, or join a pre-made Bi+ collective, any of these will do. Just find the nearest Bi+ person, and make a plan to go to at least one Pride event. The goal is to have an experience that you enjoy, make a nice memory and have fun. There is absolutely no need to try and go with folks who aren’t going to celebrate your bisexuality. Show up with people who already accept and support you.

• Minimal Online Presence

  • A recent takeaway from my chats with fellow chronically-online folks is that sometimes, you’ve just got to block more people and go touch grass. If you’re encountering nasty biphobia on your feed from strangers, block them. (ESPECIALLY if they don’t have a profile picture, or have any red flags in their bio. Bots are real, and we don’t need them in our feeds.)

  • For real though, I want to say that there’s a lot less in-fighting and identity-policing in real-life spaces. Finding these good interactions is so important for our long-term sustainability of just participating in queer spaces.

• Have Your Comebacks at the Ready

  • There are people who will ask you questions in bad faith, and folks who are just curious. It’s not really your job to discern the difference between these two kinds of interactions if you don’t want to. There are people (like us!) who have whole careers dedicated to educating folks on the subject. So send them our way.

    • “Sounds like you have a lot of questions. Do you think you might be Bi? Awesome! Here’s a QR code where you can learn more!”

    • “You sound confused. Don’t worry, I know I can be here even if you’re a bit confused about it.”

    • “Woah! What makes you think asking that is okay? Here’s a link to a quick 101, it sounds like you need it.”

    • “You clearly have a lot going on that you need to sort out if the most important thing you have going on is policing people’s queerness. But that’s not me so… bye.”

  • We aren’t going to give the online haters any air time, so why should the offline ones get any? It’s not your job to educate folks, or convince them that they’re wrong. So if you get any hint that an interaction is going to strip you of your energy, set it the intention that it goes right back to sender. You don’t have to engage at all. Grab your buddy and go somewhere else.

• Design Your Own Pride Experience

  • There are so many things going on during Pride month, it can be overwhelming just reading about it. I invite you to release any pressure you might feel about going to everything just to represent or “enjoy it to the fullest.”

  • You get to craft your own pride experience that suits you. Prioritize organizations or event hosts that you’re familiar with. Get recommendations from your buddies about the good places to hang out. And make sure you focus on your own wellbeing. Take regular breaks, drink water, and eat well.

Courage is Fear Walking

Even with all these steps and prep, you might still feel some worry and anxiety. This is normal and an okay thing to experience. It’s human. If this is you, I invite you to start small. Gather your support net and take that one step. Go to that one event. The more small positive experiences you have, the more confidence you gain for the next one.

Courage is recognizing the fear, and making that tiny choice through it. Get comfy with whatever scenario feels most probable and your potential responses, this will help you feel safe with yourself when you go out into the world. This is because you get to reassure yourself that even if it does happen, you know how to handle it. This removes a lot of the anxiety of the unknown, and allows you to summon a stronger kind of courage.

You’re already doing so well! Your community loves you, and Pride is yours to embrace how you want to.

We belong at Pride as much as anyone else does. We deserve to get excited about it, too.

Stay Bisexual & Stay Strong,
Jace

As an adult, I have friends from all walks of life. Friends that look like me, and friends that don’t. I have very little in common with most of my friends. Our bonding often looks like stimulating conversation and entertaining philosophical ideas.

And yet, lately, I find myself thinking about how much I miss being friends with people who share my lived reality.

Read more

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’m a bi guy and have been married to my wife for 20 years. Two years ago, I came out to her as bi, and she has been incredibly supportive. I’ve since told two close friends, who were kind but immediately focused on how this might affect my wife and our marriage.

As I think about coming out more broadly, I’m worried people will judge her or assume something is wrong between us. That feels unfair, especially when she’s done nothing but support me. At the same time, I’ve spent most of my life hiding this part of myself, and I finally feel like I can be honest. But I’d rather stay quiet than risk her being treated the way I’ve felt all these years.

How do I balance wanting to be open about who I am with protecting the person I love?

Sincerely,
I’m Not Making It Weird, Everyone Else Is

A.

Dear I’m Not Making It Weird, Everyone Else Is,

Man, I hate it when people make my relationship their business. My knee jerk reaction when someone has something to say about how my sexuality impacts my marriage is, “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we were fucking.”

But me being pithy isn’t actually advice, is it?

Okay, so folks having an opinion about bi+ relationships is nothing new. At the very least, you can feel good knowing that you are, in fact, bisexual enough.

What I hear you asking, though, is: How do I finally take up space without it costing someone else something? More specifically, how do you take up space and own your identity without it backfiring on someone you love?

You came out (congratulations) and your wife met you at the door (whoop, whoop); but instead of this being a moment to celebrate, you find yourself in a defensive position. And while that’s a thoughtful and loving impulse to protect her, it’s also a trap.

Because you’re trying to do two things at once:

1. Be known

2. Control how other people interpret what they know

You can do the first one. You can’t do the second.

And I think part of what’s throwing you is that you’ve already gotten a preview of how people will react. You tell two close friends, and instead of just hearing you, they immediately pivot to your wife. Is she okay? What does this mean for your marriage? Which again, is such a classic response it’s almost boring. People hear “bi” and immediately start doing relationship math.

But here’s the thing: your wife is okay.

More than okay, actually. She knows. She supports you. She’s in the relationship. She’s not going anywhere. Everyone else? They’re reacting to their own assumptions about what bisexuality means to them, not to the reality of your marriage.

I get why that bothers you. You’ve spent your whole life being misunderstood, and the last thing you want is for that confusion to splash onto her. But I want to point out something you might be doing without realizing it: You’re trying to protect her from the exact thing you’ve been absorbing for years (i.e., other people getting it wrong).

While I love the instinct, I don’t think the solution is for you to stay hidden. Because then what you’re saying is that the safest version of this situation is the one where you continue to carry the weight alone. You’ve already done that. For decades. We’re not doing that again, okay?

If people make weird assumptions, that’s not a failure on your part or your wife’s. And it’s not a harm you’ve caused her. It’s just…people being limited. Which they will be. A little. Sometimes a lot. People will go out of their way to misunderstand and misrepresent bisexuality. You and your wife will be okay, regardless of what people think.

But can we return to something that’s eating at me? In your letter you said that you’ve hidden this part of yourself your whole life. My friend, that internalized self-erasure doesn’t go away overnight. No, no, mon frère, that shit seeps in and turns into habits, instincts, thought patterns, values, etc. You’ve probably convinced yourself that if you can stay quiet, if you can keep your sexuality to yourself, life will be easier because there will be no bumps in the road.

Is that even true, though?

Not for nothing: Your wife is cool with who you are. Your wife didn’t ask you to play it straight. Your friends didn’t even ask you to go back into the closet, they just don’t understand you yet.

That’s really different from: I came out and my and my wife’s lives are ruined.

You’re allowed to come out in a way that reflects the actual reality of your life: a bi+ person in a long-term, loving marriage with a woman who knows and supports you.

If people hear that and go, “Wait, but what does that mean for your relationship?” you don’t need a whole speech prepared. You don’t need to convince them (Because why? Because you’re not fucking them.).

You can just say, “It means I’m bi. And we’re good.”

That’s it. That’s the answer. You don’t owe anyone a full debrief of your marriage to make your identity make sense. And I think part of what might help here is shifting what you see as your responsibility.

Your responsibility is to be honest about who you are and to treat your wife with care and respect. Your responsibility is not to make sure every single person interprets that correctly on the first try. That’s not a standard anyone can meet.

So the balance you’re looking for isn’t “How do I come out without anyone ever judging her?”

It’s more like, “How do I come out while trusting that our relationship can withstand a few people not getting it?” Because it can. In fact, it already has!

And for what it’s worth, I don’t hear someone in your letter who’s reckless or inconsiderate or about to blow up his life. I hear someone who finally feels like himself and is trying to make sure that feeling doesn’t come at someone else’s expense.

That’s a good instinct. Keep that. Just don’t let it turn into another reason you stay hidden. You’ve done enough of that already.

Take care of yourself, and give your wife a little more credit! She seems like she can handle being married to a bi man (which is dope as hell, though I might be biased).

Rooting for y’all,
Bailey

An event collaborator recently emailed me about an upcoming Bi+ Night we’re hosting and said, “I’m so looking forward to this. Since it’s the Friday before June, do you think it should be Pride themed?”

Now, I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and think that I’m being ungrateful about this fresh energy being ushered into bi+ event organizing. I’m thrilled! So, when I say this, please don’t judge me too harshly. Fuck that.

I didn’t say this, of course—there’s no need to be rude to a collaborator who was really just trying to celebrate—and instead wrote something to the effect of: “We’re hosting a lot of Pride events throughout June. I don’t have a ton of bandwidth. Let’s just have this night be Bi+ Night.”

Pride is not a fun time for me, and pretending that it is…probably isn’t good for my health. And as a lot of us bi+ people brace for the impact of the biphobic dogpile that accompanies every Pride season, I don’t want any of us to go into the summer with the belief that we aren’t allowed to take up space at a queer event.

Fuck that, too.

Read more

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I found my current partner shortly after I realized I was Bi+. He’s a pretty straight dude, and I love him so much I hope to marry him some day. He knows I’m Bi+, and I’ve told a select few, but I also struggle with feeling like it’s somewhat meaningless to tell people about my Bi+ness, since nothing is really going to change.

I guess I’m asking what does it mean to be Bi+ if your dating history has mostly been hetero and you’re currently in a happy, stable, relationship? Is my next step to immerse myself in the culture? What even IS the culture I’m supposed to immerse myself in?

Sincerely,
Feeling Pointless

A.

Dear Feeling Pointless,

First, I want to reassure you that you aren’t the only Bi+ woman who feels this way. Many of us feel, or have felt, like our Bi+ identity should take a back seat while we are in a relationship with a man. This is a normal feeling to have when you’ve been told your whole life (like all of us have) that we are defined by the closest man in our lives. Our fathers, brothers, boyfriends, husbands all appear to cast an insane shadow we cannot seem to escape.

I want to focus on this element of living in the shadow of a man for a second. Because so many of us have internalized this narrative, where our identity is wrapped up tightly around our relation to the man closest to us. Internalizing this is a survival strategy. We live under the patriarchy, after all.

Your Bi+ identity is part of who you are, regardless of who is in that picture with you. If it’s important to you, it doesn’t matter what anyone else has to say about it. If it’s important to you, it doesn’t matter what changes or doesn’t change because of it. If it’s important to you, by very definition, it isn’t at all pointless. It’s part of who you are. And you are a whole, beautiful human being independent of your relationship to any man. (Or anyone, for that matter.)

You get to be seen as your whole self. That changes something. Perhaps, it might not change your relationship status with your partner, but it will change your relationship with yourself and the world around you. Being seen as your whole self, including your Bi+ identity, means you can foster important feelings of bi-positivity, authenticity, and self-esteem.

This is where the culture piece comes in.

Bi+ culture isn’t any one thing. (I mean, would it be Bi+ culture if it was?) It’s a wonderful eclectic mix of history, solidarity, pop culture, lemon bars, and fun denim obsessions. It’s our knack for questioning binaries and coming up with creative solutions to escape them. It’s community events and peer education.

It’s tough to tell you where to begin because there’s so many cool things to explore! So, instead, I’ll give you a few options varying by time frame.

Dipping your toes

This is a chance for you to explore what it means to be Bi+ in a more educational and narrative capacity. Give yourself a chance to hear stories, gather information, and soak it all in.

• Bisexual Killjoy podcast

  • Of course we had to be at the top of the list! Start from the very beginning for a grounded exploration on Bi+ topics.

• Bi: The Hidden Culture, History, and Science of Bisexuality by Julia Shaw

  • This is a fantastic book for seasoned and new Bi+ folks alike. It’s incredibly comprehensive in its selection of topics. It’s academically and historically grounded, without being overly theoretical or jargon-y. I recommend it to everyone, and I still reference it to this day. Bonus! It’s also an audiobook.

• Bi All Accounts: An Anthology of Bi+ Voices, Volume 1 edited by Bailey Merlin

  • Edited by our very own co-host, this is a lovely Bi+ anthology exploring bi-erasure from a number of different perspectives. It’s always great to sit with stories that feel near to us, and perhaps one of the ones in this volume will resonate with yours.

• The Book of Pride: LGBTQ Heroes Who Changed the World by Mason Funk

  • The first book I ever read that wasn’t Bi-specific, and still included Bi+ voices in meaningful ways. A beautiful collection of interviews from LGBTQ elders who were in the trenches when the movement demanded it. You’ll get a pretty full perspective on the overall movement and communities as they evolved. Bonus! It’s also an audiobook.

Learning the Ropes

Bi+ community can be as simple or as complex as you make it! What remains true is that starting small is probably the best way to go. A few tips to start.

• Check out online events

  • Starting small with low stakes is the important bit, and as we’ve said multiple times on the show, things that happen online are still very real and very valid. You’re welcome to join us on our Discord to expand connection in a familiar territory. (Bailey and I are in there all the time!) Or perhaps an online event hosted by the Bisexual Resource Center– you might be interested in their online gatherings for Bi+ women partnered with men.

  • ❗Caveats to online spaces:

    • Not all of them are friendly, kind, or competent around Bi+ specific elements. Please do not go on Reddit, a random Discord server, or any other discourse-prone spaces. It’s easy to get sucked into a -phobic/-ism war that confuses you further. Focus on events and spaces curated by Bi+ organizations and Bi+ creators you trust.

• Find your regional Bi+ organization

  • Wherever you’re located, it’s a good idea to find your regional Bi+ organization and get to know them a little. Browse their website and social media, maybe sign up for their newsletter. This will give you an overall idea of the vibes and maybe there’s something worth joining.

  • Here’s a handy dandy guide put together by the BRC that might help.

  • If you’ve already formed a connection inside a Bi+ online community, they’ll probably also have recommendations for you, too.

• Have 3 conversations

  • Wherever you choose to go, whether it’s online or in-person, I invite you to have three separate conversations with folks. You might find someone going through the exact same thing you are, and maybe it’ll be a chance to sit in the confusing feelings with a new friend. It is in the interactions with fellow Bi+ community members that your own Bi+ identity expression takes shape.

Flying Free

This is practice so you know how to confidently take up space as a Bi+ person. You’re here, and you’re beautifully queer!

• Start a Blog

  • Or begin a journal with your Bi+ journey and experience. Share the things that you’ve been curious about, or what has been coming up for you. Write down your thoughts on the latest Bi+ event you went to (don’t stop going to those!) or how you noticed a Bi+ character in a show. This is your journey, and you deserve to have your support along the way.

• Explore your style

  • Looking Bi+ is something that a big part of our community wants to achieve at least some of the time. No pressure if that’s not you, but I invite you to experiment a little bit with your style and the things in your closet. Are there things that make you feel “more” Bi+? Maybe try wearing that to your next Bi+ gathering. If you enjoy make up, maybe try a little bi-flag number with eyeshadow. Perhaps cuffed jeans and a jean jacket might be more your vibe…

  • Sidenote: I just found out about this brand that’s about to launch a collection of Bi+ apparel and !!!!! I’m so excited to see what’s coming!

• Volunteer

  • I’ve found that volunteering for Bi+ orgs and/or at Bi+ events is an awesome way to grow community connections AND foster a sense of belonging-ness as a queer person. It can feel a little intimidating at first, and there’s no need to start volunteering right away, but I encourage you to consider it. There are plenty of options for volunteering, from asynchronous online projects (like our own volunteer projects), to co-hosting events with organization leaders. There is always something for everyone of any skill set, at any skill level.

  • Plus, coming back to the same group of people to work on something creates reliability and really cements those friendships in the long term.

  • 📌Note on Volunteering:

    • There is always the option for you to begin your own thing, especially if there are no organizations easily available in your area. Still, I encourage you not to re-invent the wheel. Reach out to us or any Bi+ org (the BRC is always my go-to) and ask for advice on what to do and how to do it. Bi+ community is always excited to see the community expand.

Here’s the long and short of it, Bi+ culture is Bi+ community. Embracing your Bi+ identity can mean a lot of things, but it doesn’t have to mean leaving your partner, being non-monogamous, or turning your life upside down. Embracing your Bi+ self can really just be about choosing to learn more about Bi+ history and culture, getting involved with your local community, and choosing to embody a version of yourself that owns your Bi+ness authentically.

I hope we cross paths sometime soon! We have events twice a month in our Discord community, and our very first International Meet Up is happening this year at the Bi+ World Conference. I love meeting and hanging out with y’all 🫶

Sending you much love and encouragement!

Stay Bisexual & Stay Strong,
Jace

Confusion can cause big stumbles in the movement, especially when it’s all bundled up in heated discourse. So, while we do cover and define a lot of these big terms in our very first season of Bisexual Killjoy, let’s take a minute to discuss these terms in detail.

Mono = one

So a monosexual, or monosexuality, refers to sexual attraction to one of the following: genders similar to your own, or genders unlike your own.

By extension:

Monosexual (adj.) Describes someone that experiences exclusively one kind of attraction (to genders like their own, or genders unlike their own). Monosexual can also be used to describe a sexuality that denotes exclusively one kind of attraction.

Monosexuality (noun) A sexuality that is defined by exclusively one kind of attraction to genders like one’s own, or gender unlike one’s own. (i.e. homosexuality, heterosexuality.)

These are descriptors and categories with zero emotional charge or inflection. These are not insults, slurs, or anything of the sort. These are (mostly) academic terms used to describe particular things as they become relevant in the literature/study/research.

Now, the reason we use these terms in the first place is because of the straight/gay binary. We cover this in greater detail in our episode on Bi-erasure, but here’s the cliffs notes:

• There is a general, common-knowledge consensus on the straight/gay binary. Straightness sets what is “normal” and expected, while gayness takes an inverse approach to this expectation.

• This binary permeates our very understanding of what can and cannot exist in our collective consciousness. As such, the straight/gay binary does not allow for non-monosexual alternatives to exist.

• This means that any attempt of recognizing or naming any kind of non-monosexuality results in active, deliberate eradication of the known consciousness.

  • In the case of bisexuality, we call this bi-erasure. When people say or do things that emphasize the following:

    • Bisexuality doesn’t exist- or if it does, it’s only a temporary state.

    • Maybe some people are bisexual, but not you specifically.

    • Even if bisexuality does exist, it is a delegitimized identity that cannot be respected.

The straight/gay binary has such a strong grip on us, that it feels impossible to escape. If someone isn’t straight, the automatic assumption is that they’re gay. This is because the straight/gay binary exists within another binary: the monosexual / non-monosexual binary.

Monosexual people who fit within the straight / gay binary hold specific kind of privilege within the monosexual / non-monosexual binary.

A quick sidebar to talk about privilege

Recap: Privileges are unearned benefits that are available to dominant groups. These dominant groups rely on such benefits to acquire resources, power, and to reacquire their privileges. These privileges are also invisible to those who have them.

No individual is wholly privileged or wholly oppressed. Talking about privilege is an uncomfortable experience, especially when our privilege is masked due to our particular positioning. Gay and lesbian folks may feel a strong resistance to even name that they have privilege within the monosexual / non-monosexual binary.

This is a gentle invitation to lean in. We’re not calling anyone out here. We aren’t “punching up” or assigning blame. This is neutral information for us to go about our lives knowing a little more about the social world around us.

Monosexuality, whether that’s heterosexuality or homosexuality, has been the epicenter of sexuality discussions. It doesn’t matter if it’s about sexual health, sexual pleasure, or identity- the discussion will revolve around a monosexual default.

This is monosexism. The assumption that the only sexualities worth talking about are monosexualities. That discussions around any kind of non-monosexuality are unnecessary or irrelevant.

Sure, straightness had the main monopoly on sexuality discussions for quite some time. However, as we fight for inclusivity and gain some wins, we can clearly observe how this sexual diversity really means monosexual diversity.

Books with Bi+ educational presentation are difficult to find. The research still focuses overwhelmingly on monosexual populations. And the resources that are most widely available are monosexual resources, typically lacking any sort of competence around non-monosexual specificities.

This is where monosexual privilege lies. In the knowledge that, as research and resources expand, they will always include monosexual perspectives.

By contrast, non-monosexual perspectives are constantly challenged. They have to “prove” they aren’t being represented by monosexuality. It isn’t simply a given that non-monosexual perspectives also merit study and insight—we have to write five whole pages solely on why our perspective might differ from monosexual ones.

Queer resources and hotlines aren’t knowledgeable in non-monosexual experiences. We risk being re-victimized and experiencing more harm when we ask for help.

Picking up a “queer representation” book and knowing at least one of the stories depicted will represent yours is the privilege. The “I don’t even have to question that this is for me” moment is the privilege.

By contrast, non-monosexual folks do not share this experience. In fact, we often pick up the same “queer representation” books in hopes of seeing ourselves reflected, only to find we aren’t in the book at all. Not a mention. Not a peep.

Non-monosexuals are the minority of the LGBT minority. (In this case, a minority in terms of social minority regarding power and access.)

And in this context, considering the extent of monosexism, yes, monosexual people do have privilege.

Because compared to them, non-monosexuals have to work twice as hard to get half as far.

Now, to the questions sitting in our DMs

Are the terms monosexual/monosexism oppressive?

No, they are not. Monosexuality describes a kind of attraction. Monosexism is the overall paradigm that leads us to believe that the only sexualities worth prioritizing are monosexualities.

What are your thoughts on people who are attracted to multiple genders but still identify with a monosexuality?

This question is trickier. The definition of bisexual that I use in my everyday life is “attraction to genders like mine and genders unlike mine.” That means that the “bi” in bisexual does, in fact, mean two. But as in two kinds of directions, not two genders. I’m partial to this definition because of its expansiveness, and it honors our Bi+ history of fluidity and acceptance.

I also believe that, at the end of the day, we choose the community we wish to cultivate. Some people may feel attracted to multiple genders, but still choose to adopt a monosexual label. That’s fine- that’s their own choice. Getting involved in their chosen community is their own right.

I don’t think we should hold any opinion over what another person with complete agency has chosen to identify as. Their label is their own, and they have chosen their community.

Our hyper-individual experience is one we are allowed to have without constantly dodging others’ opinions. If you say you’re Bi+, I will believe you. If you say you’re gay, I will believe you. That’s the end of it.

What is the role of monosexual-identified people (but who still experience attraction to multiple genders) in Bi+ activism?

The same role all monosexual people have in Bi+ activism: spending their privilege by advocating for Bi+ inclusivity. Allowing Bi+ people to be heard in meetings, town halls, and conferences. Ensuring their orgs have Bi+ specific resources. Not talking over Bi+ people when they call out a problem.

There is a place in the movement for everyone, including monosexual-identified folks.

At the same time, monosexual-identified people should not speak over (or for) Bi+ identified people. Regardless of the specificities of a person’s particular attraction.

___

Here’s the key takeaway, folks: monosexism is a real thing that actively seeks to erase non-monosexual people out of existence. It’s something that we have to navigate every day, and it’s exhausting. It’s not oppressive to name the structures that are perpetuating the oppression.

You get to choose your communities. It comes to a point where it’s a lot less about “whether or not I belong” and a lot more about you choosing to make this community your own. When our fight becomes your fight, you’re one of ours.

Some people choose to distance themselves from the Bi+ movement, and they have the right to choose that. Maybe they don’t share our experience, or they don’t feel seen here even if they technically meet the basic criteria– they can still choose.

You’re here with us because you’ve allied yourself with what we stand for, and hopefully this work makes you feel seen. That means you’re one of us. So let’s go hand out some Bi+ stickers! We’ve got work to do!

With love,
Jace

Dear Bailey & Jace,

Thank you for your work. BKJ is one of the first places I’ve felt seen in a long time. I’ve been married to a man for over 30 years, and we have three young-adult children. Our relationship has had its struggles, but after therapy and some life stability, it’s in a better place, though I still feel something is missing. About three years ago, I began experiencing attraction to women. I didn’t act on it, and only shared it this past summer when my husband brought it up. He isn’t open to non-monogamy, and we’ve both been in therapy. I’ve told myself I need to mourn this part of me to preserve my family. But when I opened up to a close friend, she suggested my attraction to women is really about dissatisfaction in my marriage, not my identity. I’ve heard similar ideas elsewhere, and while they feel invalidating, they’ve also shaken me. How do I make sense of this?

Sincerely,
Married, but Wondering

A.

Dear Married, but Wondering,

Let’s start by naming the thing that’s happening here (because everyone around you seems dead set on calling it something more convenient for them): You’re attracted to women.

How do I know that? Because you said you’re attracted to women. But instead of taking that fact at face value, the people around you keep trying to tell you that you mean something else. You say you’re attracted to women, but what you must mean is that you’re dissatisfied. Or that this attraction is a symptom of something deeper and more menacing.

Friend, it sounds like working through your issues with your husband allowed you to learn some things about yourself. That isn’t a metaphor or anything, either. Literally, you worked on your marriage, work that I imagine included independent work, and you gained new information about yourself. Who would be a better expert on your attraction than you?

Back to the plot: Discovering something new about your attraction does not automatically point to some issue that needs to be unravelled by your local seer. Sometimes attraction is just attraction. Now, that doesn’t mean your marriage is irrelevant. It clearly matters to you. You’ve put in work, you’ve raised a family, and you’ve fought for something that is, by your own account, in a better place than it used to be. That deserves acknowledgement.

But here’s where I think people around you are doing you a disservice. They are collapsing two questions into one:

• What is my sexual orientation?

• How satisfied am I in my relationship?

Those questions can influence each other. They can even interact in complicated ways. But they are not the same question. And right now, everyone in your life seems awfully invested in answering the second question for you while dismissing the first. Because it’s easier for them to understand.

If your attraction to women is “just” about dissatisfaction, then the solution is neat: fix the marriage, deepen intimacy, trust your husband more, and the problem goes away.

But if your attraction to women is real (i.e., part of your orientation), then there is no clean fix. There is only complexity. There are trade-offs and decisions that don’t resolve neatly into “and then everyone was happy.” So people reach for the simpler story. That doesn’t make it true.

Let’s also talk about timing, because this is another place where people tend to get dismissive. The idea that if something is “real,” you would have known earlier is one of the most persistent myths about bisexuality, especially for women.

You built a life within a heterosexual framework. You got married. You had children. You invested decades into a relationship that, by all external measures, made sense. There may not have been space for your attraction to women to even register as a possibility, let alone something worth naming.

And then, three years ago, it did. That “sudden” arrival doesn’t make the attraction less real. If anything, it makes it more significant because it broke through anyway!

What concerns me most in your letter isn’t just that people are questioning your attraction. It’s that you’ve started to internalize the idea that this part of you must be mourned in order to preserve your life. That’s a heavy sentence to pass on yourself, beloved.

And look, sometimes we do make choices that involve loss. You may ultimately decide to remain in a monogamous relationship with your husband. That is a valid choice. It is a choice many people make, for many reasons. I’m in a monogamous relationship with my husband, which means that I won’t pursue other avenues of attraction. That’s not a loss for me.

But there is a difference between choosing not to act on something and deciding that something isn’t real, or doesn’t matter, or needs to be buried to keep the peace. You don’t have to erase your identity to stay in your marriage. You don’t have to agree with your friend that your attraction is “anecdotal” (which, frankly, is a fucking wild thing to say to someone about their own experience). You don’t have to adopt your husband’s therapist’s framework as your own.

You definitely don’t need to believe that if your marriage were just “good” enough, this part of you would disappear. That’s not how bisexuality works.

Now, I’m going to push you a little, because you came to a Killjoy, not a Makejoy.

You’ve done a lot of thinking about how to preserve your family. You’ve done a lot of work to stabilize your relationship. You’ve taken on the emotional labor of making sense of this in a way that minimizes disruption. I don’t see as much curiosity about yourself. Not just “What do I do with this?” but “What is this actually like for me?”

1. What does your attraction to women feel like?

2. What kinds of connections do you imagine?

3. What parts of you come alive in those moments of recognition?

4. What have you been taught about desire to dismiss and/or minimize?

Right now, you’re being asked to decide the meaning of something you haven’t been allowed to explore without it being immediately redirected into a problem to solve. That’s not fair.

Here’s the thing, and I know this reply took some time to get to you (sorry): You don’t need to rush to a conclusion about what this means for your marriage. You also don’t need to accept other people’s interpretations as more authoritative than your own.

Allow me to leave you with some things to remember as you learn to trust yourself:

• You can love your husband and still be bisexual.

• You can have a “better than it used to be” marriage and still feel something is missing.

• You can choose monogamy and still experience desire for people outside that structure.

• You can build a meaningful life and still discover new parts of yourself decades in.

The discomfort you’re feeling isn’t a sign that something is wrong with you. It’s a sign that you’re holding multiple truths at once in a world that prefers you to pick one.

If you take anything from this, let it be this: You don’t have to decide today what to do with your attraction to women, but you do need to stop letting other people decide what it means. And if your friends give you any guff, find some new friends.

Start there.

Be well,
Bailey

Okay, that’s probably a lie. Well, sorta. Burnout implies depletion, but what I’m feeling is a lot hotter than that. I’m pissed. I’m burdened with a particular sort of exhaustion that comes from offering yourself to a community that says it wants connection, wants space, wants each other…and then doesn’t show up.

This year, I’ve hosted a range of events. Some of them have been great, like coffee meetups that turn into afternoon ramen or bi+ nights at bars where you watch people fall in love. And then there have been other events where ten people say they’re going to come but five actually do. Events where a restaurant prepares a lovely evening for our group with branded menus and free drinks, but then we show up in half force and I look like a flake.

And while I’m still angry, I want to remind myself that the world didn’t end because of these events being less than ideal (and with the world as it is right now, I don’t think anyone would point the finger at me because I had no control over an attendee weirding everyone else out).

But if you’re the person who hosts, the parentified child, the organizer, you know what I’m talking about. It’s a specific sort of embarrassment you feel when you ask your people to take you seriously, and then your people just don’t follow through.

After a while, you start asking yourself: Do people actually want community, or do they just like the idea of it?

Because those two things are not the same.

Read more

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I am a bi sapphic with a strong preference for sapphics, femmes, women, nonbinary people, and non-men. I’ve only ever dated other sapphic, feminine-presenting people. Even though my queer card has been “punched,” I keep running into a lot of biphobia in sapphic and queer spaces, especially online.

When I look for positive bi+ content, I mostly find discourse framing biphobia as “overblown” or treating bisexuality as a joke and/or privilege. Jokes like “bisexual women and their boyfriends” erase bi+ people in sapphic relationships entirely, and it really feels like people are projecting their worst experiences with bi+ exes onto all of us. Over time, this has made queer spaces feel alienating. I’ve even stopped listing “bi” in my bio because it seemed to invite more erasure than community.

I guess I want to know how to hold onto my bisexual identity in sapphic spaces when those same spaces keep questioning or flattening it?

Sincerely,
A Tired Bi Sapphic

A.

Dear Tired Bi Sapphic,

Oh boy, I resonate with your experience so much, I don’t even know where to start.

Bi+ women are made to be scapegoats within queer communities. That’s really the sticking point that you’re bringing up. It’s as if all the ills and woes of all LGBT communities at large could be resolved if Bi+ women just stopped trying to be a part of “a community they so clearly don’t belong in.”

I’ll be honest with you, I’ve stopped trying to argue with this rhetoric. It’s gnawed away at me for so long that I’ve legit lost sleep over it. The worst part is that, on some level, it feels like they have a point. Maybe Bi+ women shouldn’t bring their boyfriends to pride. Maybe Bi+ women do have more privileges than others. Maybe Bi+ women actually…

Here’s what I know- these overblown generalizations that make Bi+ women the source of all problems within LGBT communities are biphobia disguised as “punching up.”

How do we know this? The facts abound.

• Bi+ women are at higher risk of intimate partner violence. (The Gender Policy Report, 2019)

• Bi+ women are more likely to internalize binegativity due to external pressures to “prove” their identity, which leads to a whole host of issues. (Cipriano, Nguyen, and Holland, 2022)

• Etc, etc, etc.

But let’s dismiss all the facts for a minute. (and I do mean just a minute, hang on close)

I, too, have felt this profound erasure from others attempting to villainize Bi+ women. I made a post on threads a few months ago calling out the myth of passing privilege (as one does, this is quite literally my job) and someone responded with “here come the bi women that have clearly never been in a serious relationship with a WOMAN before screaming from the mountain tops with their victim mentality that their relationship with their boyfriend is queer.”

Nevermind that I’m actually, literally, married to a woman.

And once I responded with that fact, they proceeded to double down on how I couldn’t possibly know what I was talking about. Again, nevermind that I have an actual, literal, degree in the field.

The assumptions and accusations others make towards us fly in the face of reality and real-world, actual, facts. Making a scapegoat out of Bi+ women is simply too tempting, too easy for them to not do. It is entirely a projection of their fears.

I could give you a list of strategies and tips on how to handle (in)direct biphobic comments while you’re in these spaces, but honestly? Resisting these projections gets exhausting real fucking fast. Having to pause the conversation every other minute to say “actually, that’s not true” or “that’s a wild biphobic thing to say” gets tiresome.

Instead, I want to focus on something else.

Being a part of queer spaces is fun. It’s where you begin to build community, connect with others, and maybe share some common life experiences. As a Bi+ woman married to a woman myself, I totally get why immersion in sapphic spaces feels like the thing to do.

But, please hear me when I say this, if you feel alienated, erased, and overall unpleasant when you’re in these spaces, then they’re not the spaces for you.

It’s a sucky truth. Other queer folk should know better than to erase our Bi+ness. They themselves have been subject to erasure from the cishet system. They know how awful it is. And yet, biphobia abounds.

I’ve learned the hard way that it’s no use to fight with a belief. For the most part, folks that lean into biphobic practices aren’t going to respond to facts. We’re the scapegoats, and there’s nothing we can do to convince them otherwise.

This is exactly why Bi-specific spaces, organizations, and events are necessary for our health and overall wellbeing. We need to connect with each other without feeling like the other shoe is going to drop at any moment. We need community that accepts us entirely, and allows us the space to grow as we learn more about ourselves.

This is not to say that you have to abandon or distance yourself from sapphic places/spaces/events entirely. Of course, you belong there as much as everyone else, and you deserve to take up space. You also deserve a break.

I invite you to fill up your Bi+ cup with Bi+ joy and connection. Reach out to the Bi+ org closest to you, and ask if they have any in-person or virtual events you can attend. Join our Discord and connect with fellow Bisexual Killjoys who know what it’s like.

Being in good Bi+ company regularly allows you to face erasure with more confidence. It’s about being in spaces where you feel affirmed and supported, to balance out the educator-under-duress moments. You deserve more Bi+ joy in your life.

Sometimes, being Bi+ is hard, but it doesn’t have to be hard every second of your life. There are times when it’s as easy as breathing, and it’s crucial for our wellbeing to seek out these moments. They keep us going for the long run.

With Bi+ compassion,
Jace

Tell us the story of how your work began. What pushed you to start?

For context, I’ve been working as an actor for 14 years now and with that comes a lot of highs and lows. Job security is very hard for the everyday actor. After the pandemic and the 2023 actor strikes, I was left with no other choice but to work survival jobs that I hated. The idea to become an event organizer started in 2023 when I began attending events at a specific lesbian society in Chicago. The host of the organization posted on Instagram that they would be taking a break for the holidays. New Year’s came and went and it was clear that they had given up on the org.

“Oh what a shame” I thought. “Well I am bi, so maybe I could start attending straight events in my search for a partner.” Thus began my year of attending straight dating events. One in October of 2024 really stood out to me. The concept was great but it was so poorly executed. I remember complaining to anyone who would listen that I could certainly do a better job.

Didn’t think about it since. Then, 2 months later, my younger brother comes back home from University and I take him to an event. This specific event was for making friends.

Now, my brother, (especially at that time) didn’t really go out much. He was fascinated that “some dude in his 20s” could organize such a successful event that was fun and brought so many people out. I told him that it couldn’t be that hard. “All you need is an Instagram account and a dream.” He said that event organising was something that I could be good at. I brushed it off.

At this point, I’ve been bouncing from survival job to survival job, quitting whenever my acting career was at a high and redownloading Indeed whenever it was at a lull. The industry and my career was still trying to recover from the pandemic and the strike. I needed a flexible survival job that didn’t interfere with the demands of my career. One day in January of 2025, I had the idea to become an event organizer. I designed some graphics, made an Instagram account and made my first post.

“Sapphic events coming soon to Chicago.”

The post gained some traction and I was gaining followers. I emailed the venue that hosted the event that I did not like back in October and asked if I could host my own event there. They said yes and on February 22nd, 2025, I hosted my very first event. It was more than a success. Now, I host events all around Chicagoland!

How does your bi+ identity shape the way you run your business or create your work?

Being bisexual, I understand first hand how biphobic the world we live in really is. Straight spaces are not the only spaces where biphobia is prevalent. A lot of queer spaces aren’t accepting of bi+ identities either. It is important to me that Starlight Sapphic is a safe space for ALL sapphics. Oftentimes, when seeking refuge within the queer community, us as bisexuals aren’t always made to feel included. For example, I’ve had people ask me if they as bisexual sapphics could attend my events. They weren’t sure, due to the lack of community they felt in lesbian spaces. (Which is something I could unfortunately relate to.)

I said “of course! If I exclude you for being bisexual then I would have to exclude myself” It’s very important to me that people know that a bisexual woman created Starlight Sapphic. I have “created by proud bisexual” in my instagram bio for instance. I share bi+ memes on my stories. I regularly speakup about being bisexual. I think those simple actions create more visibility and show that bi+ people are here and unashamed.

What do you wish more people understood about bi+ entrepreneurs / creatives / leaders?

I would also like people to know that there isn’t one correct way to be bi+. It isn’t always a 50/50 split of attraction. That’s what makes being bi+ so special. Everyone experiences it differently.

We are not confused, or greedy, selfish, or whatever other negative stereotypes that are associated with us. We are simply beings with too much love in our hearts that it can not be confined only to loving one gender. It’s a shame how many people feel less than for being bi+. Bi+ entrepreneurs, creatives, and leaders show us that we can live full and meaningful lives without conforming to this idea that all humans must be monosexual and “pick a side”

What does being visible cost you? What does it give you?

There’s this push and pull I feel between being out and proud. I first came out to my mom at age 17 and have identified as bisexual ever since. On one hand, I am extremely unashamed of who I am and don’t care what anyone thinks of my sexuality. On the other hand, my ethnic identity makes me want to keep that part of myself hidden from certain people. I am half Cameroonian and half Nigerian and in both of those countries, homosexuality is a crime.

Although I am blessed to have parents who love and accept me for who I am, it’s not something I am eager to share with every single member of my family. Those closer to my age know but I am moreso scared to tell some of the elders. I am scared that them knowing I’m bisexual would sever those relationships, as it already has with one of my uncles. I also grew up going to a Catholic church with a majority West African population. My parents are still heavily involved in that community and a lot of Africans can be very judgy. It is not uncommon to use the success of a child to measure how good of a parent you’ve been. I’m personally a bit more distant to that community and don’t care at all how they perceive me. I would, however, hate for members of that community to look down upon my parents because of my sexuality.

I want to be clear, being bisexual is not something I keep secret. If someone, in my family, or church community were to ask, I would not lie. I think my chronic singleness has been a sort of protection for me in that regard because these people have no reason to ask me such questions. I think I moreso worry about the future. Especially because I have aunties that are inquiring about when I am to find a husband. What will happen if I end up taking a wife? I think I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. On the bright side, being openly bisexual has allowed me to live my life to the fullest. I am lucky to have been born and raised in Chicago. I know that whatever happens in the future, I will always find a chosen family who loves and accepts me for who I am. That fact has given me a sense of peace in knowing that no matter what, I’ll be ok.

What has been the most surprising challenge of building your business?

I didn’t think about this when I started but as I began to grow, I began to again worry about my extended family. I’m making videos promoting my business and leading with my sexuality and in the back of my mind I’m thinking, “What if someone posts this on Whatsapp?”

“What if my favorite aunty in Nigeria finds out about Starlight Sapphic and my bisexuality?” I feel like a hypocrite because I’m presenting myself online as someone who doesn’t care what anyone thinks about my identity but I’m having these thoughts so obviously that’s not true. It’s not the logistics of running a business that challenges me, but this internal struggle that, prior to starting Starlight Sapphic, I hadn’t thought would bother me at all.

Marketing and promoting my business is obviously a part of the job and my current approach has been working. I’m selling tickets to my events and creating community. Not only am I meeting new people but I am connecting people together. One of the greatest feelings I get is when someone tells me that they met their partner or best friend at one of my events. It fills me with great joy to know that I am actually making a positive impact in people’s lives. This feeling makes whatever internal struggles I’m dealing with feel worth it.

Follow Celina and Starlight Sapphic on Instagram at @starlightsapphic.chi!

Thank you for checking out this special series that allows us to make room for more of our community. Being a bi+ person can feel lonely until you realize just how many of us there are! Are you a bi+ person with a project that you want the world to know about? Fill out our Community Spotlight application. Due to the volume of requests, space cannot be guaranteed.

There are days where the only people I talk to are my wife, and y’all in the Discord. My only touch points to a world outside my own.

There is little to ground me here. No classes to go to, no campus to get lost in. There aren’t any old friends to drag me out to the latest event. As a matter of fact, where are the events? How do I find them?

I needed to do something, anything that would stop me from disappearing into myself. So, naturally, I started going to the gym.

Read more

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’m a bi demiro ace (oriented/angled), and I’m struggling to feel connected to my bi identity and community. I experience very little romantic or sensual attraction, and what I feel most strongly is aesthetic attraction, which can be intense but is often dismissed as “not enough” to count as queer. Since my attraction is rare and not something I want to act on, I keep feeling like a fraud for claiming a bi label at all. How do I feel more connected to my bi identity and community when my attraction doesn’t look like what people expect? How do I stop feeling like a fraud?

Sincerely,
Feeling Like a Fraud

A.

Dear Feeling Like a Fraud,

Okay, before we even get into it, I just gotta say (and hope you believe me when I do): you are not a fraud.

Allow me to put my Mr. Rogers sweater on so we can get cozy about this. What you’re describing is a real orientation pattern, real attraction. Just because that doesn’t look like the most culturally legible version of “bisexuality” (and what does that look like?) doesn’t make it fake. That said, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not an expert on asexuality, so give me a little grace as I navigate this conversation.

One of the problems we have inside the bi+ community is that, in a lot of ways, we’ve internalized the same hierarchy of attraction that the broad culture has. Sexual attraction sits at the top. Romantic attraction usually follows. Then, everything else (sensuality, emotional connection, aesthetics) gets treated like a footnote.

But that hierarchy isn’t neutral. It’s built around allosexual, alloromantic norms. If your attraction doesn’t center sex or frequent romance, it gets downgraded. That doesn’t mean it’s lesser. It means the framework wasn’t built with you in mind. Sounds pretty bisexual to me (I’m being glib, but hopefully you get what I mean).

You also named something important in your letter: potential. Plurisexuality has always included potential attraction. Not guaranteed or equally distributed or constantly active. No, it’s potential. Look no further than Robyn Ochs’ definition of bisexuality for confirmation on that.

When you realized that romantic attraction itself is rare for you, it didn’t suddenly erase the direction of that attraction. If the rare spark could happen with more than one gender, that’s meaningful data. Low frequency doesn’t equal low legitimacy.

But let’s talk about aesthetic attraction for a minute (which, admittedly, I had to read into before responding to your letter). After I confirmed what I thought to be true, I understood.

You’re totally right that aesthetic attraction can be intense. It can feel magnetic. It can feel embodied. It can feel like being pulled toward someone rather than just admiring them from afar. And it’s minimized, either absorbed into allosexual queerness when convenient, or dismissed as “just aesthetic” when an aroace person names it. That dismissal isn’t about the truth. It’s about discomfort with attraction that doesn’t follow the expected script.

You don’t owe anyone a version of bisexuality that is actionable, consumable, or narratively legible. Attraction does not have to culminate in dating, sex, or partnership to be real. Desire does not have to be frequent to count. Orientation is about pattern, not performance.

Now, the harder part: connection.

If you’re looking for community that centers sexual or romantic experience as the primary marker of bi+ identity, you may continue to feel out of step. That doesn’t mean you don’t belong. It may mean you need spaces where ace-spectrum and oriented/angled identities are explicitly understood as bi. It also might mean that you have to be the one to hold that space and let other people find you. As someone who’s spent their life making space for other people, I know that might suck to hear. But it feels pretty great when someone else finds you and says, “I’ve been looking for something like this my whole life. Thank you.”

I’d encourage you to experiment with this shift: instead of asking, “Am I bi enough?” try asking, “What does my bi experience actually look like?” If your attraction moves across gender lines, that is a bisexual pattern. If you feel yourself drawn in ways that aren’t constrained by gender, that is a bisexual reality.

Babe, I promise, you don’t have to justify anything. You’re allowed to claim a label because it helps you understand yourself, not because you meet someone else’s quota of experiences.

Stay inconvenient,
Bailey

Look, there’s a lot of bad going on in the world right now. So much. So much that I don’t even know where to focus. Me getting caught up in biphobic “discourse” isn’t on a high list of priorities. But, damn it, if I don’t talk about this shit right now, I’m going to lose it.

Writing about biphobia from a place of knowledge is, like, the one thing I have. Threads just told me what a “bisexual lesbian” is (not getting into it here). Let me have this. Let me talk about the newest season of Bridgerton, Pedro Pascasl, and how fucking tired I am of bi-erasure happening when someone starts dating. Please.

So, by now, those of us who are going to watch season 4 of Bridgerton are done and those of us who never gave a shit weren’t going to watch it in the first place. But, here is the obligatory “spoiler” tag. Consider yourself warned.

It’s 2026, let’s talk about why we’re still pretending that a partner’s assumed gender is a sexual orientation determinant.

Read more

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’ve been reflecting a lot on the topic of gender and heteronormativity recently. I feel like Bi+ people are, in a way, allergic to the practice of heteronormativity. We exemplify what it means to be culturally queer, especially when it comes to Bi+ women and men “queering” gender roles. Do you think that Bi+ people are “allergic” to heteronormativity? What does that say about us Bi+ people as a whole?

Sincerely,
Out of the Norm

A.

Dear Out of the Norm,

This is such a brilliant question! I feel like we’ve touched on the subject lightly both on the podcast and this advice column, but you’re right. Let’s give this reflection some undivided attention here.

You definitely have a point, Bi+ people resist the temptation to succumb to typical gender roles and norms as established by the patriarchy. But why is that?

It’s because we don’t shy away from asking the hard questions. Coming into your own identity as a Bi+ person is really a process of questioning things you’ve taken for granted so far. That could be things you have been told by others, or things you thought were real for you that suddenly feel a little off. There is always confusion and questioning before true clarity reveals itself. It’s the same for any discovery.

What makes Bi+ people distinct is that we don’t expect this clarity to be set in stone. We recognize that we resolved our confusion once, and we look forward to resolving confusion whenever it comes again. This extends beyond sexual attraction, it encompasses multiple areas in our lives. Most notably: relationships.

I don’t think that Bi+ people are immune to fantasizing about the future. With all the possibilities in our lives, perhaps we’re prone to fantasizing even more than our monosexual counterparts. We wonder about the qualities our future partners might have, and who we will become when we are with them. We wonder about the aspects of ourselves we are willing to give up, and which ones are non-negotiable.

It doesn’t matter the gender of our future partner, there are just some things that we refuse to let go of- a project, a dream, a career…

This forces us to reflect on how much our actual, ideal future deviates from the future that has been scripted for us. And once we’re quite clear on the specifics, the actual steps we take end up being radically different from the heteronormative script we were given.

This is where the “allergy” to heteronormativity comes in. It’s in the fact that we don’t want or in any way desire a heteronormative relationship. We might feel drawn to aspects of it- I’m not gonna shame a bi woman for her desire to be a stay-at-home mom- but our desire for a full life that includes our Bi+ness necessarily means rejecting the overly-gendered heterosexual norm.

This rejection is precisely what “causes” problems when we come out as Bi+. Everyone’s confused over “what it means” because there are no scripts for it. It’s a social blank-slate, where we get to decide what it means for ourselves moving forward.

We feel the urge to queer the relationships we are in. We are explicit in negotiating our agreements and communicating our wants. Our wants likely include fostering connections with our Bi+ community, regardless of what kind of relationship we’re in. We share what doesn’t sit right with us about the “heterosexual expectation” and move towards a kind of connectedness that brings us closer to our queerness.

That is the relationship we have with heteronormativity in relationships and gender roles. We dismiss it entirely. We take away its power by refusing to center what our lives “should” look like when we choose our partners. We focus on ourselves, our communities, and the kind of love we wish to know in this life.

I have seen the “promised land” of the cishetero-patriarchy. And I’ve got to say, I’m not impressed. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.

I have asked the questions, meditated on the answers, and decided: the norm has nothing of value to offer me. It’s fucking boring.

So yeah, I do think that us Bi+ people are allergic to heteronormativity in the best way possible. In a way that prioritizes our wants and desires out of life and relationships. In a way that centers community, authenticity, and love.

It means that we are revolutionaries at our core. It means that we are thought leaders and community creators. It means that we rise above the boring limitations these structures insist we abide by. It means that we do not concern ourselves with living the “right” kind of life. We choose to live a true kind of life.

Basically, we’re kinda badass.

With love,
Jace

Someone asked, “Have any of you been able to push back on that? To think perhaps they’re Bi, instead of just gay or straight?”

I responded without thinking, “I always think they’re Bi.”

“It’s gotten a bit out of hand, actually.” I laughed, “Now my straight friends have to come out to me as straight. And my gay friends have to come out to me as gay. It’s quite comedic.” We all laughed.

“That’s funny,” someone chimed in. “But if you assume everyone is Bi, that makes the problem of Bi erasure worse. Because if everyone is Bi, then no one is.” A few folks nodded.

I sighed. Was this the place to push back on another commonly held misconception? Will they hate me if I bring my big words and article citations? I don’t know anyone in this city, I don’t want to lose my chance at making friends…

So I didn’t say anything this time. But, I had an hour long bus ride home to think about it. And boy did I think about it.

Read more

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’m a Bi woman, and ever since I came out I’ve been bombarded with rhetoric about how Bi women are “attracted to all women and 4 men.” While I thought it was funny at first, and the meme kind of made sense, things have now shifted. My queer friends use it to “prove” my bisexuality isn’t as valid as other people’s bisexuality because I’m not attracted to “every type of woman” (never mind that I’m also not attracted to every type of man!).

Is it unusual to have such an uneven “gender balance”? How do I tell my friends that I’m still bisexual even if I’m not head over heels in love with every queer woman I meet?

Sincerely,
Too Picky

A.

Dear Too Picky,

Let me reassure you that there is no “one way” to be bisexual or experience Bi+ attraction. The percentage split and 50/50 myth are both leftovers from the Kinsey Scale era – and that’s something we’ve outgrown. The experience of being Bi+ is different for every individual, and while we do speak with a collective voice when necessary, that does not negate our particular experiences and desires.

This may be a bold claim, but nobody is attracted to “every kind of woman/man”. To the same extent that a person is not compatible with every single person they go on a first date with. So many factors come into play. Things like career goals, relationship aspirations, political views, and yes, gender performance, too.

All these things play a role in our desire for someone because we are social creatures with preferences and expectations. It is not a unique factor of any one demographic or sexual identity.

If anything, the fact that you are able to put into words so clearly the aspects that you’re attracted to in a person (man or woman) is a clear indication of your own self-awareness.

It’s totally okay and acceptable for you to have a type. That type can change depending on a person’s gender, or it can be the same across the gender spectrum. That does not matter as much as your confidence in your own identity and desire.

So, no, it is not unusual for you to experience such an “uneven gender balance”. Your experience is not out of the ordinary, and it does not make you any less bisexual. You know what you want in a partner, and that’s far more clarity than most folks have.

As for how to tell your friends, it depends on how long this has been going on, and what your ultimate goal is.

Personally, I’m partial to the assertive shut-down. Sometimes, folks need to be told to just stop.

“Friend, this is not the first time you have made a comment like this, and it is not okay. Saying things like this is disrespectful to me and my own queer journey. I am bisexual, as I’ve told you before. My preferences, dating history, and your perception of me do not change that fact. If this continues, I will be forced to create some distance between us.”

Now, I know that boundary-setting can be difficult and it can even feel confrontational at times. If this approach feels too direct for you, there’s always the persistent approach.

Every time they say something that directly or indirectly invalidates your queerness/bi+ identity, shut it down. It doesn’t have to be a drawn-out interaction at all. Think of it as a slap on the wrist.

• “As I’ve said, I’m bisexual.”

• “Just because I have a type, doesn’t mean I’m not bisexual.”

• “It makes me profoundly uncomfortable when you say things about me that aren’t true.”

• “What you just said is really hurtful. I’m bisexual, so what?”

I also believe it’s really important to ground yourself in your truth. A lot of times, in this tug-of-war over who’s queer or not, there’s a tendency to misquote others. Sometimes unconsciously, but more often, it’s very deliberate. Remember to affirm to yourself (and those around you) what you know to be true.

Some examples:

• “I’ve never said it’s okay to refer to me as the straight friend. I am bisexual, which makes me not straight.”

• “My bisexuality is not determined by percentages. Please refrain from framing your assumptions about me as fact.”

• “I am confident in my identity as a bisexual person. I do not need your input.”

It’s all an exercise in setting and maintaining boundaries with yourself and those around you. Who you are not up for debate or interpretation from others. Especially not others who do not know what it’s like to walk a mile in your shoes.

You’re a confident, bisexual woman who’s clear on what she wants in a relationship. You have the guts to say out loud what so many people are embarrassed over. (I know I was super embarrassed when I first realized I had a type…)

You’ve got this. And just so you know, my wife found me on a dating app because she was too picky about the people she went on dates with. So you’ve got my vote and hers on having high standards. It’s a good thing.

Keeping those standards high,
Jace

People like to take advantage of organizers.

Organizing teaches you very quickly that people do not think about labor unless they are forced to. Not because they are inherently cruel, but because our culture (queer culture included) treats care and emotional management as…background noise rather than work. If something exists, it must have been easy to make. If someone is responsive, they must have time. If you care enough to do it once, you must be willing to do it forever.

I’ve noticed lately that this dynamic is especially pronounced in queer spaces, where “community” is both a shared value and a kind of moral leverage. Requests (though they feel more like demands) arrive framed as inevitabilities. Organizers become assumed infrastructure, despite the fact that we’re often unpaid. We stop being people and start being surfaces onto which needs, frustrations (double down on that), and urgency are projected.

What often goes unnamed is that this is still exploitation, even when it comes wrapped in progressive language.

Read more