Being bisexual in a relationship that “looks straight” has come with a complex mixture of privilege and erasure.
As a cis woman in a monogamous partnership with a cis man, most people assume that I am straight, and many would likely be surprised (or confused) knowing that I am not.
And I want to first acknowledge that because of my current partnership, I do experience many privileges—increased safety, less discrimination, making people comfortable by fitting in with expectations and (hetero)normativity, and more.
And also, these heteronormative assumptions come with downsides, too. I walk through the world knowing that part of me is constantly erased, that outsiders assume they know me and which “box” I fit into.
It means wrestling with a good deal of imposter syndrome, not feeling “queer enough,” and rarely feeling fully seen.
It often means internally struggling with “what’s the point?” when it comes to coming out…even though, when I’m most grounded in myself and the fullness of who I am, I easily know why it would feel most honoring of who I am for my complete identity to be witnessed (by those who will hold it safely and compassionately).
(Also, it’s definitely worth noting that the assumption of straightness is made of people with a variety of sexual identities, too—this experience isn’t unique to bisexuality.)
Being assumed straight as a bisexual has also prompted curiosity around (and frustration with) monogamy culture and why we constantly think we understand people’s identities based on who they’re partnered with. My relationship doesn’t define me, and your relationship status doesn’t define you, either.
I don’t know who still needs to hear this, but you are a whole goddamn person, whether you’re single, dating, sexually active or not, asexual, demisexual, monogamously or non-monogamously partnered, or anything in between or outside of…and while these may sometimes feel like they might provide some descriptors of your vast identity, never do they paint the whole picture.
Often, the assumptions we make about people are so that we can fit people into restrictive boxes…so that they “make sense” to us. This is especially true when it comes to gender—from baby “gender” reveals (which should actually be called “sex reveals”), to colors, toys, and clothes categorized as “boy” or “girl,” to most bathrooms being labeled in binary terms, to most paperwork capturing demographic info only using “M” or “F,” to the constant need to know “what” someone is (usually only meaning “male or female,” and usually really asking what sex someone was assigned at birth)…even to the ways we call nonhuman animals “it” until we can identify their genitals reinforces the value that the gender binary has in our oppressive minority-world culture.
From the absurd “difficulty” (*cue my huge eye roll*) people have with using the correct pronouns for people to the high murder rates of trans and gender nonconforming people, the gender binary is restrictive, inaccurate, and violent.
As a cis woman, I cannot begin to know what trans people experience on a daily basis. In our binary structures, I am immensely privileged, both as a cisgender person and someone in a relationship that appears to be straight.
And I also have been able to explore how my bisexual identity can be a part of subverting the limited boxes our binary systems try to place us in.
Here, it’s important to acknowledge a few things. There is still absolutely transphobia and trans discrimination within the bisexual community that needs to consistently be reckoned with (including how bisexuals need to better align with trans and nonbinary people within and outside of the bisexual community). And while I’ve personally found that many bisexual people don’t employ the binary verbiage of “both genders” when describing their sexuality (more on that in a moment), that mentality is still present in certain parts of the community, as well as in the world at large (in movies, shows, articles, conversations, etc.).
I also want to describe a bit about why I don’t see bisexuality reinforcing the gender binary, as many often assume, and why cisgender bisexual people should forever understand that our identity is also as co-conspirator with trans and nonbinary people.
First, let’s talk about the idea of monosexism, which is the assumption that someone is attracted to only one gender. Now, this limited idea of seeing the world can still be found in gay communities, but I think it’s most important here to focus on how this shows up in straight people, for a few reasons. For one, heteronormativity, and not homonormativity, is what the structures of minority-world cultures are currently built on and are used to oppress. Also, monosexist expectations are placed upon relationships/people that are assumed to be straight as well as relationships/people that are assumed to be gay. Through it all, monosexism serves to reinforce a binary understanding of who people are.
Monosexism allows many straight people to feel like they’re “accepting” of non-straight people while still being able to place them in boxes they understand. Even if they do the work to challenge the heteronormativity within themselves, monosexism can present as a (sometimes) more subtle discriminatory view of the world. In heteronormative culture, homosexuality already rebels against assumed “truths,” and straight people often cope with that by leaning into monosexism to reduce the confusion around a more nuanced reality. This then lends itself to also promoting a gender binary—with monosexism, “you’re either straight or gay” can easily lead to “you’re either a man or a woman, and you’re attracted to either men or women.”
This is where I find bisexuality to be an incredible opportunity to thwart the binary—despite many people thinking the “bi” in bisexual references a gender binary, bisexuality resonates most with me because it offers an alternative to the “mono” in monosexuality.
My bisexuality challenges the assumption that I am attracted to only one gender. It subverts the narrative that we all fit into these neat, tiny boxes of who we are.
It allows for a complexity of greyness in a world that tries diligently to pretend it’s only black and white.
Now, the definitions bisexual people use for their bisexuality are vast. I’ve heard people describe it as:
“I’m attracted to more than one gender”
“I’m attracted to all genders” (yes, this is also a definition that is often used for pansexuality)
“I’m attracted to my own gender as well as other genders”
and more!
This isn’t a complete list, because each person’s sexuality is unique to them, and definitions and labels vary greatly (and many people don’t feel labels are helpful at all, which is just as valid!).
But to me, the common thread is that bisexuality frustrates a heteronormative, monosexist worldview, and this is immensely valuable to our rebellion against oppressive structures.
Bisexuality also challenges the patriarchal worldview that minority-world cultures are built on. This can be seen in how monosexism reinforces the idea that bisexual women are really straight, and bisexual men are really gay (clearly this also supports a false gender binary as well). The reason for this, namely, is the assumption that men (especially cis men) will always be the most desirable—and bisexuality counters that, rebelling against a phallocentric narrative.
Another way bisexuality resists the binary can actually be found within the very stereotypes people often use to demean and erase bisexuality. Descriptors like “confused,” “messy,” “greedy,” and “promiscuous” (even if they may or may not feel accurate for each person) offer an opportunity—instead of trying to challenge them with the “we’re just like you” mentality to make heteronormativity and monosexism more comfortable, I think the real opportunity is to ask: Why are these things inherently bad? (And why do we want to be “just like them” anyway?)
Confusion and messiness makes room for nuance and challenges perfectionist, “one right way” ideals.
Greediness really means wanting what we want, honoring the complexity of our desires even when they might be seen as “too much” or when they don’t fit into boxes.
Promiscuity challenges monogamy and purity cultures, making more space for the role that sex has in our lives, rebelling against a singular view of what relationships should look like, and leading to opportunities to demand respect and equity for sex workers as well as sex work in all its forms.
And these are just a few!
Gaining a deeper understanding of my bisexuality has opened me up to seeing all the varied ways in which my sexuality—this one part of who I am—can support the overall work I want to do in challenging norms. Capitalism, white supremacy, ableism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, biphobia…these all rely on the boxed-in versions of who we are (or are assumed to be) that are used by minority-world cultures to oppress and maintain power.
And bisexuality offers an opportunity to rebel against it all.
It impedes some of the restrictive ways we think.
It opens us up to more creativity, nuance, and flexibility.
And while bisexuality is certainly only one facet of revolution—and it’s not nearly enough to simply be bisexual and never look at internalized “isms” or the many intersections of rebellion—I do hold it lovingly as one way that I can choose to help build the world I hope we can create together.
To me, bisexuality is anything but binary—it’s subversive, nuanced, powerful, and beautiful.
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For a much more thorough deep-dive into this subject, check out Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution by Shiri Eisner. Additional recommended reading: Greedy by Jen Winston