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

Dear Bailey & Jace,

I’m a 36 year old cis woman and I’ve recognized my bisexuality for all of my adult life. However, I’ve never dated or had sex with a woman. I guess I was socialized to date men and am comfortable with that. I’m also aware of overly sexualizing women in our culture and I don’t want to do that which makes it hard to approach women at all. I’ve been on dates with and kissed women, though.

About 6 years ago, I got out of an abusive relationship with a guy and I’ve been on dates since but haven’t seriously dated anyone.

I recently developed a crush on my friend of about two years who is a woman who also is bi+ and is more sexually experienced than me with women. We don’t live in the same city so when we see each other I’m always gearing up to tell her I like her but always lose my nerve. Honestly, I really enjoy being her friend and just am nervous about the potential of rejection, having almost no experience with women, and ruining the friendship. Plus, since we’ve been friends for a while, I don’t know if we can casually date at this point.

How should I go about this? We met on HER so I feel like she was probably attracted to me at one point...

Any advice for me?
Crush on a Friend

Subscribe now

A.

Dear Crush on a Friend,

This is a very bisexual dilemma. There’s desire here, but there’s also a real awareness of what’s at stake emotionally. You’re not spiraling because you’re confused. You’re spiraling because you’re thoughtful and you don’t want to hurt anyone, including yourself.

You’ve known you’re bi+ for a long time, but you’ve mostly dated men, and that matters…but not because it disqualifies you from anything (babe, it really doesn’t), but because it shapes how much weight you’re putting on this crush. When you don’t have a lot of lived experience with women, it’s easy to let one connection start carrying way more meaning than it needs to. Suddenly this isn’t just “Do I like her?” “What if this is my only chance?” “What if I mess it up?”

That’s a lot to put on one person.

You are allowed to want women without knowing how it’s “supposed” to go. You’re allowed to be attracted without being particularly smooth about it (but who is when it comes to dating?). Bisexuality is not a skill you level up in private and then debut when you’re confident. It’s something you learn by being a little awkward in real time. This is something that a lot of women I meet are afraid of (i.e., being awkward), and that’s what’s keeping them from kissing ladies. If I may be so crass: Be weird; kiss bitches.

Your concern about sexualizing women isn’t a sign that you don’t know how to desire them. You’re not treating this woman like an experiment, right? You like her. You respect her. You value the friendship. That’s not a barrier to intimacy; that’s a foundation for it.

At the same time, I want to point out that staying silent doesn’t actually protect the friendship in the long run. It just means you’re carrying all the tension. You’re already doing emotional labor around this: rehearsing conversations, managing your feelings, holding back. Naming what’s happening doesn’t create risk; it just makes the existing risk visible.

And naming it doesn’t have to be dramatic. You don’t need to frame this as a confession or a turning point. It can be as simple as saying you’ve developed feelings, that you don’t expect anything from her, and that you care about the friendship regardless. That’s just letting her know where you are.

But here’s the part I really don’t want you to miss: this crush doesn’t have to “work out” to matter.

Even if nothing happens with her—because of distance, timing, or because she just doesn’t feel the same—this still counts as movement. This is you letting yourself want a woman in a real way, not just in theory. That’s huge!

And that wanting doesn’t need to stay attached to this person forever. In fact, it might be doing its job simply by reminding you that you’re allowed to pursue women at all. Including women who live closer to you. Including women where the stakes aren’t quite so high. Including women who don’t also carry two years of friendship and emotional history.

So if you tell her and she says yes, great. You can take it slowly and see what unfolds.

If you tell her and she says no, that’s not a dead end. It’s permission to take this part of yourself seriously enough to give it room elsewhere.

Either way, you’re not ruining anything. You’re learning how to let desire exist without immediately shutting it down. And for a lot of bi+ women, especially those of us coming out of harmful and toxic relationships, that’s the real work.

Regardless of the outcome, I’m very excited for you.

Take good care of yourself,
Bailey

Jace and I try to approach our work with as much transparency as we can because it’s easier to ask for help and build community when you’re open about how you operate. Which means I need to be honest with you all about something. I really don’t like conferences.

As put together as I may seem, your girl is still a trauma-riddled ADHDer who doesn’t like big social situations where she doesn’t know anyone or where the bathrooms are. So a jumbo conference like Creating Change—which was in our nation’s capital at an expensive hotel with 1500 other people who all seem to be friends already without my emotional support Jace—was not my idea of a good time.

But sometimes we have to do things because we said we were going to do them. We got a workshop proposal accepted, and a lot of you wonderful folks paid good money to take us to Creating Change. So, I packed my bag full of purple, said goodbye to Richie, and hopped on a plane to do what I said I would do.

The Arrival

I haven’t been to Washington D.C. in a very long time. It looks like most any other metropolitan city, though the drivers seem to have very little concern for their lives, which is saying something since I’m used to Boston streets. My driver got me from the airport to the hotel in record time (I find that cabs from the airport are usually cheaper and easier to get than a ride sharing service), and I have to commend him on the creative use of the breakdown lane to avoid stalled traffic.

After dragging my suitcases through a giant lobby full of Creating Change volunteers in neon green shirts, I found my way to the check-in desk where Arthur squared me away in short order and sent me up to my room. The room was innocuous; the perfect place to have at least one breakdown over the course of five days. Hair coiffed and mascara reapplied, I went back down to the lobby to try to figure out where the hell I was supposed to get my name badge so I could find my way to first-timer orientation.

Gentle reader, there were so many people. On top of that, there was a multi-piece brass band playing full blast in the hall, sounds amplified doubly or triply by the odd shape of the space. Somehow, my bewildered expression did not bring anyone to my aid (maybe I don’t actually ever look bewildered) but I still managed to find the check-in station where I bumped into Stephen, a bi+ compatriot from The Bi Brigade in Portland, OR. We hugged and I promptly lost him in the crowd when I went up to get my speaker badge.

One of the volunteers asked me what the talk was on. I told them and was pleased when they responded, “Oh, I want to go to that!” And was promptly disappointed when they followed it up with, “I wasn’t able to get that time slot off.” Remember this detail; it’ll be relevant later.

Somehow, I found my way to the orientation room, which was crowded with folks from all over. The coolest part was seeing how many translators there were! One thing I do appreciate about queer spaces is how much effort goes into accessibility, even if it isn’t always perfect. The Task Force, the organization that hosts Creating Change, partnered with many different folks to address accessibility needs, including calling on community ambassadors from D.C. to help attendees navigate the city and tap into the local organizing and queer scenes.

After being toured around a bit, I did my own cursory pass through the expo hall in the hopes that I would be able to find the Bi+ Community Table (a space that Robyn Ochs was able to get gratis for those bi+ organizers from around the country). Unfortunately, there was no spot to be found. I told myself that it was okay, that people were still arriving and that the conference wouldn’t really start until tomorrow. Remember this detail, too; it’ll be relevant later.

Realizing that a lot of folks were attending the conference with their organizations, I went up to my room to contemplate dinner and to finish the slide deck (yes, yes, we know we’re procrastinators). I’ll spare you the laborious saga of me actually leaving the hotel for dinner, getting lost, and having to have my mother call out directions to me from the comfort of her Missourian homestead, but just know that I secured a sandwich and the cashier told me that I looked like a beautiful doll. Dinner was eaten; the presentation went unfinished.

The Way They Look At Us

I woke up at half past four and called Jace. We walked through the slides together and tried to figure out what the hell we were trying to say when we submitted our abstract on “Becoming a Bisexual Killjoy.” How were we going to connect white supremacy, patriarchy, and workshop materials together? Of course, between the two of us, we got there. We’re a very good team.

A little after eight, I texted Stephen that I was ready, bag stuffed with Bisexual Resource Center brochures and books. He sent me a booth number, and I got lost trying to find it. In hindsight, this made perfect sense. We hadn’t been assigned a table. We hadn’t been given a booth number. We were, functionally, a rumor.

I dropped the materials at the table—wherever it technically was—and rushed off to a session on leading for social change. I sat next to a stranger wearing a ring in unmistakable bi pride colors. I complimented it, the way you do when you see someone quietly signaling I am like you in a crowded room.

His name was Todd. He’s with the Bisexual Organizing Project in the Twin Cities. He told me he had volunteered for their board after hearing Jace and me speak at BECAUSE in 2024, our first major conference. I had one of those moments that knock the air out of your chest a little: the reminder that you don’t always get to see the impact of your work when it’s happening, but it’s there anyway.

When I made my way back to the booth, Stephen had worked a small miracle. We now had a title card that read BI+ Community Table, though I remain unclear on why the “I” was capitalized. Still, it was something. Proof that we existed.

What became clear very quickly, though, was that most people had no interest in finding us. We were tucked into the dark back corner of the expo hall, and when the occasional unsuspecting passerby stumbled across our table, they’d clock the colors, read the sign, and make a swift exit—as if bisexuality were contagious. For the record, bi+ people do not bite without consent.

That morning, I was wearing a dress in unmistakable bi pride colors and carrying a small pink purse shaped like a toad. His name is Frederico, and he is objectively delightful. People were obsessed with him. They stopped me to comment, to ask where I got him, to giggle. I realized that Frederico was my “softening factor,” or the thing that made me approachable. Without his whimsy, I’m not sure how many people would have engaged at all.

Later, I went to a session on disability justice and nodded along as the presenter gave a brief but comprehensive history of disability rights in the United States. The word “intersectionality” came up again and again, invoked with care and urgency. And I believed every word of it. I also couldn’t shake the irony of sitting in a room where intersectionality was being rightly championed, while bisexuality—still the largest group under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, lest you forget—remained something people quite literally walked away from.

This is the thing about how they look at us: bisexuality is acceptable in theory, and inconvenient in practice. Interesting, but optional. Worth praising, but not prioritizing. We’re welcome to be here, as long as we don’t ask for too much space, too much time, or too much recognition.

Finding Each Other Anyway

As the morning wore on, more bi+ organizers began to arrive. Tania Israel, newly retired from UC Santa Barbara and now championing BiPlus Organizing US. Sarah Ann from the Bisexual Organizing Project. Robyn Ochs, who needs no elaboration if you are even peripherally bi+. And Wayne Bryant, or “my best friend Wayne,” as I have taken to calling him, a longtime bi+ organizer and former president of the Bisexual Resource Center.

Wayne brought photos of bi+ leaders we’ve lost over the last two years. Among them were personal heroes: Loraine Hutchins and ABilly Jones-Hennin. Sitting with their memories felt like sitting with our dead, like acknowledging a lineage that is too often erased even within queer spaces.

Being at that table was the first time I’d ever been surrounded by so many people who are as deeply committed to bi+ organizing as Jace and I are—if not more so, if we’re being honest. It felt like stepping into a room I didn’t know I’d been missing my whole life.

Then it was lunchtime.

I hadn’t eaten all day. I couldn’t bring myself to justify a $20 breakfast sandwich, and my body was starting to make that everyone’s problem. Tania asked if I wanted to grab a bite with her. I was stunned. Tania Israel is extremely famous to me, and she wanted us to eat together.

Lunch turned into a 90-minute conversation about the future of bi+ organizing, about how desperately we both want to bring energy back into a community that has been running on fumes since the dissolution of BiNet USA not long after the beginning of COVID. She talked about coming into this work later in life, about having no roadmap, no mentor guiding her steps. I realized that we had that in common.

We talked about what it would take to build something connective again. An organization that could link smaller bi+ groups without flattening them the way BiNet had. I told her she needed a buddy. This work cannot be done alone. We praised each other’s focus and commitment, and I won’t lie: I was deeply flattered that Tania Israel thinks I’m cool.

The lunch ($26 for a chicken sandwich!) meant I missed the one other thing I’d hoped to attend that afternoon. But maybe that was okay. Conferences are as much about connection as they are about content, and sometimes the most important sessions happen over food you didn’t plan to buy.

After lunch, the building seemed to shift. People clustered in ways that made it obvious they had histories together; old colleagues, longtime collaborators, friends who’d been meeting up at Creating Change for years. Plans were made quickly and casually. We’re grabbing dinner later. We’re all heading out after this.

No one asked me to dinner. I don’t think it was unkindness. It felt more like momentum. Everyone already moving toward someone else, already folded into circles that had formed long before I arrived. Still, the result was the same. I was alone in a building full of people, acutely aware of it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon back at the booth until things wrapped up at five. When the expo hall emptied, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the hotel. The idea of navigating another crowded space, another unfamiliar street, felt impossible. So I went to the bar and ordered a wildly expensive Caesar salad and a G&T.

Frederico sat on the bar. No one asked what I was here for, or who I was with, or what I was working on. I was just a girl in a pink, purple, and blue dress, eating alone with a frog-shaped purse in a city where everyone else seemed to know exactly where they belonged.

I went upstairs intending to work on my slide deck since our presentation was the next day at 3:30 p.m., but it was no use. My body had reached its limit. I set an alarm for 4:00 a.m. and was asleep by 7:30, wrung out in the particular way that comes from wanting connection and not quite finding it.

Becoming a Bisexual Killjoy (In Practice)

Sometimes I forget that I work better in the morning. I’m medicated, alert, alone with my thoughts. By the time the sun was fully up, the slide deck was in better shape than it had ever been. Now all that was left to do was practice.

I don’t know whether my neighbors heard me, but I spent the next four hours honing the script: putting emphasis in the right places, figuring out how to acknowledge why Jace wasn’t with me without detracting from the revolutionary position that bi+ness represents. I practiced answering questions. I practiced defending the idea that excluding bisexual people from LGBTQ+ spaces is not just a moral failure, but a tactical one: it fractures political power and reinforces the binary systems that thrive on tidy categories, systems that want to know exactly what you’re worth so they can extract value accordingly. Bisexuality disrupts that logic. That’s why it’s inconvenient. That’s why it’s sidelined.

I practiced for Richie on Zoom. I practiced holding a lint roller (roughly the weight of a microphone, as it turns out) and spoke into it until the words felt like muscle memory.

I went downstairs fully intending to attend community events and workshops. In reality, I paced and hovered around the bi+ community table while Stephen, Robyn, Sarah Ann, Todd, and Tania drifted in and out. I was too nervous. I didn’t want to lose my focus. I didn’t eat lunch. The hours slipped by, and suddenly it was forty-five minutes to showtime.

I found the room I’d been assigned. 51 people had RSVPed. My volunteer was already there, which meant I couldn’t properly decompress, but maybe that was for the best. Talking through my nerves was better than sitting alone with them. People arrived early. They took up space. The room warmed.

Five minutes to show. I patted Frederico and remembered Jace telling me to stay calm, that I was going to do a good job.

Two minutes.

One.

And then the performance part of me took over. I stood on legs that felt wobbly but looked steady and launched in. I didn’t rush. My voice didn’t waver. I laid out the realities of bi erasure, knowing full well that the data on health disparities is a hard pill to swallow when you realize what exclusion actually costs people.

We broke into groups. People worked through scenarios: board meetings that exclude bi+ representation, event planning that claims inclusivity but misses the mark, Pride programming where the B gets dropped yet again. The room buzzed. People talked. When we came back together, I could see it on their faces: the recognition that many of them had minimized themselves for years, that they had learned to shrink, and that maybe the B deserved to be remembered a little more often.

And then it was over. I think people clapped. I honestly can’t remember. What I do remember is the small line that formed afterward—conversations about bi+ projects, organizing ideas, and, “Oh, by the way, do you do talks?” It’s a humbling thing to realize you’re a teacher. That you have something to say and that people want to listen.

Not long after, many of the same faces showed up at the Bi+ Caucus. People talked about coming out, relationships, being bi+ and BIPOC, media representation, organizing. This room buzzed, too. For some, I could tell, this was the first time they’d ever been in a space where people simply got it.

It was a good day.

And this time, when the evening came, I wasn’t alone. I went to dinner with Sarah Ann and Todd. We talked about Minneapolis, about organizing, about how hard volunteer boards are to sustain and how easily they fracture. We kept circling the same theme: how desperate we all are for connection, for friendship, for solidarity.

When we got back to the hotel, it was nearly time for the opening cruise, which I learned is not a boat ride (And don’t you dare say that’s because bisexuals aren’t culturally queer. I grew up in the Bible Belt for Christ’s sake). I didn’t go anyway. I was tired again.

What We Carry, What Gets Cut Short

I heard about the blizzard early Friday morning. The kind of storm that snarls airports and strands people for days. I lay there doing the mental math: whether I should change my flight, whether I could afford to stay an extra day or two, whether it was worth it.

I felt sick about the idea of leaving early. Our community paid good money to get me to this conference. But staying longer would mean fewer dollars redistributed afterward, fewer donations to other bi+ organizations. In the end, Richie switched my flight for me. It was the practical choice. It still didn’t feel good.

I put on the community dress—the one we created for the campaign. The donors’ names printed across the fabric in painstaking brushstrokes, butterflies stitched to the shoulders. I felt proud. Grounded. Like I was carrying people with me.

When I went downstairs, heads turned (you know you did something right when a drag queen says “I see you, pageant”). Folks stopped me to say how beautiful the dress was, and then their delight doubled when I told them why I was wearing it. That felt like the point: visibility not as spectacle, but as gratitude.

As the day went on, I learned more people were changing their flights. Robyn was on the phone for an hour and half to switch hers to Saturday morning. I felt the time narrowing. The Bi+ Institute loomed. And why not? It’s a six-hour intensive meant to take stock of the state of bi+ organizing on a national level.

There were six of us on the panel: Nesta, a lawyer and organizer I’d never met in person before this conference and a truly elite pun artist; Robyn; Stephen; Tania; me; and Helen, former board member of the Bisexual Resource Center and now with Lambda Legal (thank you for your service).

We were ready. We each had areas of expertise, histories, questions we wanted to dig into. Around 50 people had RSVP’d. 10 showed up.

Creating Change had scheduled all of the institutes at the same time. The Trans Institute ran concurrently with the Bi+ Institute, as if a third of that population didn’t also identify as bi+. So much for intersectionality.

It was a long day. One of those days that leaves you feeling like you’re covered in ants by the end. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if people had been allowed to move between institutes, to exist in more than one place at once, the way real people do.

By the end, I wasn’t sure we needed an institute at all. Maybe what we need are more workshops, more caucuses, more spaces that intentionally overlap; spaces that let people explore identity and solidarity without being forced to choose one axis of themselves over another.

We were exhausted. A little demoralized. But still bolstered by each other. Most of us found our way to a Tex-Mex place that was used to big parties. We shared pitchers of frozen margaritas, chips and salsa, laughter. We talked and learned and decompressed together.

When the bill was paid and I’d figured out what everyone owed me, I wrote on the butcher paper covering the table: Bi+ people were here.

Because we were.

The next morning, the expo hall was nearly empty. Our table had been moved closer to the front. Those of us who remained talked about how to stay in touch, how to keep this energy from dissipating once we scattered back to our corners of the country. There was something here that wanted a home. That wanted continuity.

When I left for the airport, I found myself thinking: Please let this reinvigorate the movement.

What We Do With What We’re Given

Before I left for Creating Change, we budgeted $2,000. That number stayed with me the entire week: every skipped meal (not that I didn’t eat on purpose, I promise), every flight decision, every calculation about whether staying longer was worth the cost. I was the one physically there, but I didn’t go alone. I carried the trust of this community with me, and that carries responsibility.

I stayed within budget. I came home exhausted and emotionally wrung out. And now, we have $800 to give away.

That money will be redistributed to bi+ organizations doing the necessary work of sustaining our movements. This matters to us. It matters that attending national conferences doesn’t drain the communities that make this work possible. It matters that visibility doesn’t come at the expense of care.

Right now, we’re planning to donate to the following organizations, and we’re open to additional recommendations from the community:

• Bisexual Resource Center

• Bisexual Organizing Project

• The Bi Brigade

• Bisexual Queer Alliance of Chicago

• Bi+ Georgia

• Bi+ Pride Milwaukee

• Los Angeles Bi+ Task Force

If there are other bi+ organizations that should be part of this redistribution, we want to hear about them.

I want to be clear about something else, too: Creating Change mattered. Even though I was overwhelmed. Even though I was lonely at times. Even though my nervous system was shot by the end of most days. It mattered because bi+ people were there. Because we spoke. Because we gathered. Because we were visible not just as individuals, but as organizers with history, analysis, and demands.

But visibility alone isn’t the goal.

What I’m thinking about now—unpacking my bag, putting Frederico back in the closet—is how we get more bi+ people into these rooms. How we get more abstracts accepted. How we move from novelty to necessity. How we stop treating bisexuality as optional within queer liberation and start treating it as what it is: a destabilizing force that refuses tidy categories and asks harder questions about power, belonging, and worth.

Bisexuality makes people uncomfortable because it doesn’t resolve cleanly. It can’t be easily sorted. It disrupts systems that depend on binaries to function efficiently. That’s exactly why it belongs at the center of movement work, not the margins.

Being a Bisexual Killjoy isn’t about being loud for the sake of it. It’s about insisting that we count. That our labor counts. That our communities count. That redistribution, accountability, and care are not afterthoughts, but core strategy.

I was the one who went. But I didn’t go without Jace (who helped shape every slide and reminded me, again and again, to stay steady) or without the community that trusted me to show up on its behalf.

Bi+ people were there.

xoxo,
Bailey

So, we launched a Patreon.

While we were originally hosting paid Discord access through Buy Me a Coffee, we have now migrated to Patreon for hosting most of our exclusive content and events. Patreon’s platform allows for a more seamless experience for community members, including an all-in-one space to manage both Discord community access and paid blog posts.

Will we stay on Substack?

Absolutely!

We’ll be staying on Substack for the foreseeable future. Folks can still sign up for our free newsletter here, and you can still obtain (or keep) access to our content behind a paywall. These paid essays will still be published on Substack as usual.

Patreon Perks

That said, we have much more variety in ways that you can support us on our Patreon.

• Individual Essays for Purchase

  • You can now purchase any of our pay-walled blogs as a one-off transaction. This means that you have access to the content, regardless of subscription status.

  • It also means you can purchase that one essay you’re keen on reading without worrying about cancelling your subscription later.

• Clubhouse Membership

  • By becoming a Clubhouse Member, you get access to exclusive channels and events happening in our Discord server.

  • All our events are live, and none of them are recorded. So this is your chance to discuss sensitive topics or ask questions that you’re too afraid to ask. These spaces are private for folks who join.

• Podcast Enthusiasts get Bonus Episodes

  • Thanks to Patreon’s unique features, we can now pair paid blog posts with a read-out-loud recording that automatically appears on your Bisexual Killjoy podcast feed.

  • This experience is most seamlessly available through Patreon and Spotify, though we have guides for how to set up your own private RSS feed in your favorite podcast app.

  • Oh, and you also get all Clubhouse benefits, too

• Media Enthusiasts get Video Episodes

  • We’re releasing video versions of the podcast starting with Season 5! And they’re only available to Media Enthusiast members.

  • You’ll get all Podcast Enthusiast benefits, video versions of the podcast, and our undying love for keeping the Bi+ spite fuel alive and well ✨

Will all the content on Patreon be cross-posted to Substack?

Not really. All content posted on Substack will be available on Patreon, but not the other way around.

In short, this is a one-way sync. If you choose to cancel your Substack subscription to join us on Patreon- you won’t be missing anything. You’ll gain access to written and audio versions of our past and future paid essays.

If you stay on Substack, your subscription continues as normal. You’ll still get your bi-weekly exclusive content, just without the read-along. All future paid essays will continue being available through Substack. However, you won’t get access to audio versions narrated by us or be able to upgrade to include video podcast episodes.

Will Bisexual Killjoy still accept donations?

Yes! You can use Patreon’s pledge feature to support our work by contributing more than a specific tier’s amount. We also welcome donations through our Ko-fi page where we hosted our Creating Change fundraiser.

Can I still join the Discord for free?

Yes. You’re always welcome to join our Discord to receive Bisexual Killjoy updates and announcements. If you’re looking for access to Playground, which was previously open, that space is now available through our most basic Patreon tier.

This was a hard but thoughtful decision. As our community grew, it became clear that caring for the Discord (i.e., moderation, tech support, making and holding space) was a full-time job. We love this community, and in order to show up for it the way it deserves, we needed a more sustainable model.

We’ve also found that a small financial commitment helps create a more intentional, respectful space. It allows us to better protect the community and focus on what we’re here for: connection, support, and being in community with other bi+ people who show up in good faith.

Bi+ community spaces are rare, and we take that responsibility seriously. Our goal is to nurture a space rooted in mutual care – for everyone who joins, and for the people doing the work to keep it going.

Thank you so much for joining us in today’s admin meeting! If you have any questions about this new addition to the Bisexual Killjoy universe, please send us a DM here, send Jace a message request through Discord, or email us at hello@bisexualkilljoy.com We’re so grateful you’re a part of this community 💙💜🩷

Stay Bisexual & Stay Strong
Jace

Share Bisexual Killjoy

P.S. Bailey has made it safely to Creating Change!! She’s got her purple outfits and community dress all ready to show off her Bisexual Killjoy spirit ✨ Thanks to all of you who helped us meet our goal. Your community support made it possible for Bisexual Killjoy to be represented at one of the largest LGBTQ+ organizing conferences. This is HUGE! And we owe it all to you. From the bottom of our hearts, Thank You.

P.P.S. We’re still fundraising to donate to fellow Bi+ organizations! Gods know they don’t get enough funding as-is. To support Bi+ work at all levels, you can donate or buy this burnt-out team a coffee here.

For me, a lot sits close to the surface throughout January. There’s my birthday in the first half of the month (yes, I’m a Capricorn) and I love fussing over my brand-new yearly planner like it’s a new toy. I’m not just setting goals for the new year, I’m setting goals for a new age.

So every time my birthday comes around, everyone is already talking about resolutions and the kind of person they want to be, the habits they want to build. So, they’ll ask me: “Excited to turn 25/26/insert-age-here? Any big plans?”

For years, I had an answer. Then I moved to Spain.

Read more

The calendar insists that a new year has begun, but nothing about the world feels new. In the United States, we are feeling the steady normalization of fascism and the terror that accompanies it. Abroad, people are living with the violent consequences of American politics. The news cycle moves so fast that outrage barely has time to land before it’s replaced by the next emergency.

We are angry. We are tired in a way that sleep doesn’t touch. That exhaustion is the point. A population that is overwhelmed, financially precarious, and emotionally depleted is easier to control. Naming that isn’t radical; it’s accurate. But writing about it at length would mean repeating arguments that more eloquent people have already made, and we don’t need another treatise to confirm what is true.

So instead of pretending that a new year offers relief, we’re writing this to announce to ourselves and the world that we are here, queer, and doing the work.

Bisexual Killjoy exists because bisexuality is routinely misunderstood and vilified. Our work has always been about naming those patterns, giving people language for their experiences, and helping bi+ folks trust themselves in a world that constantly undermines them. That doesn’t stop being necessary because things are bad. If anything, it becomes more urgent.

Our wheelhouse is bisexuality. That may seem small against the scale of global harm, but it isn’t insignificant. Teaching and empowering bi+ people creates real shifts in how we make it through the world. One person learning to advocate for themselves, to recognize gaslighting, to refuse shame, to build community creates ripple effects. Because what happens when one person teaches what they know to someone else? That ripple becomes a wave.

So, in the spirit of transparency, we’re here to tell you what we’re focusing on this year to make waves. This isn’t optimism for optimism’s sake. This is hope in motion.

What 2026 Will Bring

Writing a Book

That’s right, folks, your favorite Killjoys are working on a book. Jessica Kingsley Publishers out of the UK (the same house that published Lois Shearing’s Bi the Way) reached out to us last year to put together a sort of survival guide for bi+ women (and anyone who resonates with that experience). We’re talking about patriarchy, power, desire, relationships, health, erasure, and the cost of being perpetually misunderstood. We hope to have a full draft by the end of July. Wish us luck.

Brand Deals

Look, being on social media sucks and we hate it. How much cooler would it be if we got paid to be there? We want to partner with brands that we like. Such as Snag Tights, though they have not as of yet replied to our collaboration request. Maybe now that we have a shiny new email with our own domain, people will answer us. But seriously, if you know how this shit works, let us know.

Podcast Awards

This isn’t because we think we need awards to legitimize our work, but recognition matters for visibility. Getting an award from GLAAD would be kick ass for the bi+ community. If nothing else, Richie deserves an award for audio engineering because that man put in the work this year.

Conference Attendance

Now that we have a bi-continental relationship, we have more opportunities than ever to go to conferences in the States and in Europe. Getting the chance to network with other advocates, researchers, scholars, and media people will help us amp up the project. Plus, any place where we can amplify bisexuality where it is historically silenced is a place we want to be.

A G’D Social Media Manager

Because sustaining this work requires division of labor, and because doing everything ourselves is not sustainable. And Bailey fucking hates doing it. We would want to pay someone at least $50/hour for ten hours a week. So, that’s $26k (plus whatever the hell payroll taxes are…let’s say 12%). Let this be the year we can give someone else the reins.

BKJ Merch

Folks keep asking us for merch, so we’re trying to give the people what they want. We’re working with an artist friend now to finalize a Polly the Plurisexual Opossum. Then it’s onto stickers, shirts, and mugs. Merchandise sales will help us support the aforementioned social media manager that we’re manifesting right now.

Bi+ Nerds on Discord

Jace put a lot of work into our brand new Discord, and she is clamboring for some other bi+ nerds to talk about theory with (which apparently includes our boy Foucault). She deserves to be around other nerds. Bailey deserves to not have to read Foucault.

A Shiny New Website

All the business books say you need to have your own website, so that’s what we are working on right now. It’ll be a hub for resources, blog posts, podcast episodes, and anything else we can figure out how to integrate. All your favorite Substack posts, however, will be accessible just as they are now.

About Labor & Survival

We are living in late-stage capitalism, whether we like it or not.

Jace left their doctoral program to do this work. Bailey works, like, four or five jobs, only one of which is paid. We aren’t looking for sympathy or anything, but we want you to know how much time, energy, and care goes into this project.

Burnout does not build movements, and exhaustion does not sustain communities. If we’ve learned anything this season, it’s that relying solely on unpaid labor is a recipe for collapse.

That is why our Patreon exists. Supporting us through Patreon allows us to keep producing thoughtful, researched content, to host and moderate community spaces, and to imagine a future where this work doesn’t rely on running ourselves into the ground (which we have been doing despite the fact that we both know better).

Our Patreon now includes multiple tiers that give people access to our Discord, personal essays (with accompanying audio), episode debriefs and other bi+ events, and more. The “more” sort of depends on what our capacity allows us to do, but know that we’ve got the spirit!

We want to be compensated for our work. We really want to compensate Richie for his work (seriously, an hour of audio represents ten hours of editing, and that’s why we sound so good). We would like to be the type of people who can pour back into the bi+ community. Imagine the good we could do if we could sponsor other bi+ organizations! Imagine if we had enough money for our own mutual aid fund!

If this work has mattered to you—if it has given you language, validation, or a sense of belonging—supporting it is one way to help ensure it can continue. If you can’t afford to support us monetarily, which we totally understand, please consider sharing our work online, talking about it with your family/friends/colleagues/frenemies, rating us (preferably) 5 stars wherever you listen to our show, and voting for us should we be up for any awards.

So, thank you for sticking with us. We know that Bisexual Killjoy has changed a lot over the last year, and we think it’s been for the better. Next season will be a lot more of just Bailey and Jace in the booth. The theme? Relationships in all their many flavors. We’re excited to be back with you in March. Until then, connect with us here and we’ll be in the office working on our show notes.

Stay bisexual and stay strong,
Bailey & Jace