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When it comes to sexuality and gender, labels are both help and hindrance. They allow us to show the world who we are, hint at our values and advertise our desires – homemade jam in labelled jars is more likely to be opened and savoured than an indeterminate fruity blob, after all. It’s why coming out is still a big deal for LGBTQ+ people; we don’t do it just for ourselves, but for others, for the straight gaze as well as our own community. Putting the world into neat-ish boxes can negate the need for awkward icebreakers. But, often, these labels invite judgement, criticism – there’s a curiosity, some of it natural and well-meaning, some wilfully dim and unpleasant.
Negative connotations have followed bisexual people for years, from all sides – their attraction to more than one gender is often dismissed as greedy, or untrustworthy, or a propensity for infidelity. Monogamy is thought to belong only to those attracted to one gender – straight or gay. Some straight people think bisexuals are secretly gay; some gay people think bisexuality is a sign of being in denial, that they’re ashamed to be “properly” gay. Bisexuality is considered by outsiders as a life half-lived: half-straight, half-gay, a sexual limbo that deals in percentages. The binaries of gender and attraction are hard to escape, but bisexuals have been nudging at these boundaries for a long time.
Bisexuality has a tradition of being underrepresented within the LGBTQ+ spectrum. In the early days of the civil rights movement, the focus was on gay men and lesbians, and as we move to talking more openly about the fluidity of gender and sexuality, it seems bisexuality is being left behind again. Despite the rise of the “bi-curious” label in the last couple of decades, there’s still an air of mystery around it. Not that long ago, bisexuality in the media was often linked to salacious gossip – a “secret” side to a public figure, for example – or used as a marketing tool. Bisexual people became accustomed to watching celebrities use their sexuality as a soundbite, dropped into interviews in an effort, maybe, to provoke and arouse straight audiences and find an affinity with an LGBTQ+ one. Whatever the artist’s true sexuality, once greater success came calling, any hint of bisexuality would often be quietly dropped. Not very helpful when anything straying outside heterosexuality is dismissed as a “phase”.
In a way this is worse than zero representation – it’s hard not to feel cheapened when your existence is acknowledged, then dismissed, by return of post. The different way bisexual men and women are viewed by the mainstream plays into this too. Meg-John Barker, psychologist and author of Life Isn’t Binary: On Being Both, Beyond, and In-Between, puts this down to something called “the heterosexual matrix”. “The cultural system we’re in assumes people are either men or women, and either straight or gay, and that men and straight people are superior to women and gay people,” says Barker. “This is why people have to come out as gay but not straight, and why, in many areas of life, men are seen as the norm and women as something different to that.” The impact of this system on men is that straight masculinity has historically been measured against femininity and gayness.
Think of the interminable banter between straight blokes; much of it centres on making judgements about whether men might be feminine or attracted to other men. Attraction between women has historically been perceived as titillating for men, not to be taken seriously, whereas sexual attraction between men, and any kind of femininity displayed by men, is seen as threatening. Think of the marked difference between a girl-crush and a man-crush. Despite living in more open times where different versions of masculinity are being nurtured, this historical version has such power that it’s not just straight guys who perpetuate it – we’re all complicit and it will take generations to unravel it.
“Interestingly, when it comes to bisexuality, bisexual women are often assumed to be ‘really straight’ whereas bisexual men are assumed to be ‘really gay’,” says Barker. “People still can’t seem to handle the fact that sexuality isn’t binary, and a combination of homophobia and misogyny operates to default everyone to a male partner.”
Clinging to the crumbling rock face of masculinity is one of the biggest challenges facing bisexual men today. Lewis Oakley, one of the UK’s leading bisexual activists, says many men he speaks to dismissed their bisexuality as irrelevant because they were in happy relationships with women. Fast forward a few years and their identity becomes harder to ignore. “These men wake up one day realising everyone loves the ‘straight’ character they’re playing,” says Oakley. “They don’t want to die not knowing if their wife would love them for who they truly are.” Other bisexual men worry coming out will mean women will never find them attractive again: according to statistics, nearly two-thirds of women wouldn’t date a man who has had sex with another man.
For some women, bi guys aren’t straight enough, while for gay men, sometimes bi guys aren’t gay enough. Assumptions that bisexuality is just a phase or a cover for homosexuality are hurtful – there’s the implication of deceit. There’s a sad irony that the sexuality that allows you to date any gender can actually leave you with an even more limited dating pool. Attraction, after all, is a two-way thing – just because there are options, it doesn’t mean they’re viable. Although knowing prejudices upfront has its advantages in revealing a person’s true nature, who’d want to date such a judgemental, blinkered asshole anyway? “You’re better off with people around you who love who you are, rather than hide or perform a gay or straight character for them,” says Oakley. And yet the rejection stings all the same.
The lack of exploration or coverage of bisexual lives has led to opposing beliefs, one being that the term “bi” is old-fashioned and restricted to binary ideas of gender and this anti-inclusion of transgender or non-binary people – “bi” meaning two suggests there are only two options. The other asserts bisexual people will sleep with just about anyone – a prejudice that inspired the name of the infamous bisexual publication Anything That Moves, which launched in 1990 and published its Bisexual Manifesto, expressing the community’s annoyance and impatience with “being analysed, defined and represented by people other than ourselves, or worse yet, not considered at all”.
Even though bisexuality is inclusive of trans and non-binary people and the manifesto allows for dating all genders, not just the historic “opposite”, pansexuality has emerged as a popular label for anyone keen to explore outside the binary. It shrugs off, perhaps, some of the negative connotations. Greg, 28, identifies as pan but says this often leads to more questions. “I identify as queer or LGBTQ+ because I still feel like an outsider,” he says. “I even have to explain to queer friends or dates – I usually just say I’m bi to save time.”
Ros, 29, is in a similar quandary. “Often I don’t feel like I conform to a particular label and have to use the word ‘bisexual’ because it’s the closest corresponding marker I have within that,” she says. “I like to have the Q [in LGTBQ+] there to represent me more accurately, because it provides more flexibility in what it means and to whom.” Sara, 34, says she’s attracted more to people than genders so feels pansexual is the right label for her, but she admits she’s nervous to use the word in front of people. “I’m not sure most people understand it; I’m often afraid that people might gently mock me for it.”
Lewis Oakley thinks people should use whatever label they like, but worries that if people are uncomfortable with saying they’re bisexual, everyone attracted to more than one gender ends up worse off. “It means we can’t properly research enough bisexual people to discover what issues are impacting them, making improving their lives next to impossible,” he says. “It means less funding for bisexuals – and we only currently get one per cent of overall LGBT funding as it is.”
That said, there’s no denying the freedom and optimism that comes from selecting the label that defines you, whatever it is. It doesn’t help that straight and LGBTQ+ people alike can be sceptical and judgey. Gabrielle, 30, says she felt excluded from LGBTQ+ networks unless actively looking for a girlfriend. “Media barely features bi characters and when it does they’re normally [same-sex] relationships, not a bi person dating a straight partner.” Luckily the internet is still a handy tool for finding your tribe. “Queer TikTok has been invaluable this summer at making me realise I’m not alone,” she says.
Amy, a bi woman in her twenties, agrees media representation is lacking. “Sometimes I feel people think they’re ‘covering’ bi experience by representing gay and lesbian lives, as though they’re the same or as though it’s a check-box exercise that if you’ve talked about one part of the community, you’ve talked about all of it,” she says.
Many gay people coming out might say at first they’re bisexual – even if this isn’t true – either because they’re still working things out or they feel having some lingering link to straight relationships might help lessen the blow for others or deflect prejudice. This can further reinforce the idea of bisexuality as a stop-gap to a “true” sexuality. Joanna, 36, has been with her wife for 17 years and has found it hard to justify her place in the world – the old cliché of having to “pick a side” always seems to be hovering around in the background. “I still feel if we were to break up and either of us got into a relationship with a man, our families would see that as confirmation of it being just a phase,” she says.
Bisexuality is also, problematically, seen as a kind of hybrid rather than a sexual orientation in its own right. “People ask, ‘What percentage gay are you?’” says Sophie, 31, “so I’ve spent a lot of time explaining that bi isn’t half anything – it’s a separate and complete identity.”
This is why Bi Visibility Day and Bisexuality Awareness Week exist – if research conduced in 2018 that found nobody is 100 per cent straight is true, there are more bisexual people out there than we think. Only 49 per cent of bisexual men feel comfortable enough to be out to work colleagues. Bisexual people are often expected to assimilate into the sexual demographic of the person they’re dating or present the same way to the outside world. A bi guy dating a bi woman is still seen as a “straight relationship”, the optics lasering away the couple’s queerness. An encouraging increase in celebrities coming out as bi, pansexual, or queer – such as Miley Cyrus, Janelle Monae, Kristen Stewart, Ezra Miller – is helping to normalise breaking away from traditional binaries.
Ben, 34, says he found it easier to be part of the bisexual community once he met his girlfriend. “She’s bi too, and has been a much more vocal advocate for bisexuality than I’ve ever been,” he says. “Before, I felt I wasn’t truly queer, just “not straight” and that self-perceived lack of authenticity hindered me accepting that it was fine to be bisexual.”
Ryan, in his twenties, also has a girlfriend. He thinks the biggest challenge is other people’s preconceived ideas of what it means. “I feel people expect me to act a certain way, and trying to feel like I’m honouring my queerness is something I struggle with. I have to constantly come out to people to remind them, ‘Yes, I have a girlfriend, but I’m also queer.’”
Past relationships with partners who questioned his commitment and made judgements about his straightness or gayness had James, 44, feeling his sexuality had been weaponised and invalidated. “It really knocked my self-confidence,” he says, “but after a while it emboldened me to take ownership of my sexuality and be annoyingly, vocally, visibly bi to make sure that kind of thing wouldn’t happen to me again.”
For all its downfalls in the face of general misunderstanding, bisexuality has more than enough upsides to go round. Ryan thinks his bisexuality has opened him up to different ways of thinking, and a variety of different people, that he might have not experienced. “When you’re seen as different in society, it gives you the freedom to think about the world outside of what is perceived as ‘normal’ and I feel my life is richer for that.”
Gemma, 28, says her sexuality has allowed her to have deeper connections with people she’s confided in. “I have a lot of love to give without a limit based on what gender someone is,” she says. “It feels like part of me is a lot freer.” Visibility and openness is key, too – this is what Pride is all about, after all. “I’ve been told by friends that my openness about being bi has helped them understand it as a valid sexuality and it’s been quite helpful,” says James.
Even though coming out to her friends at church was scary for Amy, the reaction was great and it’s helped her confidence: “I feel I have this superpower where I can see the world very differently to people who are attracted to one gender,” she says. “Even outside of thinking about romance, how we react to people and meet people is so influenced by our sexuality.”
Bisexuality is not just a phase, a pick and mix of other sexualities or a coat you wear twice a year – it’s an identity in its own right. According to Lewis Oakley, this is a time to stand up and be counted: “Our time is now. Bisexual men have the power to break through the stigma, write their own rules and be proud of who they are. I’m so lucky to have gotten to a place where I don’t personally worry about the stigma, because I wouldn’t want to be anything other than bisexual. It’s who I am.”
Justin Myers’ second novel, The Magnificent Sons (Little, Brown), which features a bisexual main character, is out now.
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