So yesterday I had my little vent about a really bizarre Mashable piece that was ostensibly about “bisexual porn” and the potential problems inherent in it that was actually about how the author feels like threesomes being a porn trope is Bad for the Bisexuals™️. At some point I do want to write the piece that actually should have been — i.e. a piece about porn’s fraught relationship with bisexuality, and how it is treated as disgusting and gay for men but desirable and universal for women — but today I am more interested in writing about this other Mashable piece, which is what I had initially clicked on and which led me down the rabbit hole to the porn piece.
At first glance, “I'm a bi woman with a husband. How do I explore my identity?” is just one more entrant to the endless parade of essays about cis white women who are married to men and feel insecure about their bisexuality as a result — a genre of essay which long time readers will remember I am exhausted by, mostly because it’s a) boring and b) the primary representation we get of The Bi Experience™️. In this case, it’s a woman who had maybe sapphic experiences with a friend in her youth at a time when she didn’t understand much about queerness or queer identity but is now a middle-aged married lady who doesn’t know what to call herself. It’s a variation,
But.
What makes this essay notable is that it doesn’t stay in the realm of “I feel bad and confused” for too long; the author actually does something about her feelings. Specifically: she goes to a London sex party that’s designed to be a “safe space” for bi and bi-curious women — though I think “safe space” is being used here to mean “you can fuck each other and explore sexually without men around” rather than “nothing will trigger your traumas here!”
What does she do, what does she see, at the party? I wish I could tell you! Honestly, if this had been an essay about what it’s like to go to a sex party for bi and bi-curious women it would probably be more interesting. But what we get instead is just the briefest recap of the sex party as a tease, as a set up to this idea of going to the sex party as a way to validate, to explore, one’s bisexuality even within the context of a monogamous hetero appearing relationship (we know she remains monogamous because the primary detail she gives about her party exploits is that she was just a voyeur).
Anyway all of this has been a lead up to the part of this essay that I’m still just stuck on, still mulling over, which is this concluding paragraph:
And what I witnessed at Skirt Club, just conjuring it in my mind makes me wet. So does lesbian porn. So does having sex with my husband. So, too, does a plethora of other things. Holding this knowledge about my shapeshifting sexuality feels powerful. I can't be all parts of myself to everyone at all times. And those fragments of myself are also constantly in flux. This is a moment in time and right now I’m bisexual — regardless of my relationship status. I can’t wait to see what comes next… but I doubt I will ever say I’m straight again.
I don’t want to be too hard on this woman, because I think this is very relatable in many ways. But it’s also its relatability that gives me pause, because what this list reminds me of, honestly, is the kind of compulsive checking I used to do re: my own bisexuality back when I was in the deepest throes of my sexual orientation OCD. It reminds me of the mental checklists I would provide myself to “prove” that I was bi: how could I be straight if I dated this woman, how could I be straight if I watched this kind of porn, how could I be straight if etc etc etc.
For me there was no real satisfaction in this list making: indeed, the very fact that I felt the need to “prove” my bisexuality, to analyze my bisexuality, to figure out if I was bisexual enough was kind of the problem. It can be wonderful to go to sex parties, to watch porn, to think about what gets you aroused — but none of these things confirm or deny your bisexuality. I’m sure there are plenty of women who’d go to Skirt Club and feel only anxiety and disgust — not because they’re not bi, but because they’re not into public sex, because they don’t feel comfortable in a room full of naked strangers, no matter their gender. There are also bi women who just aren’t going to get into porn for whatever reason. None of these things are proof of the presence or absence of bisexuality, because bisexuality is simply an embodied state, you know?
And I’m definitely showing my cards here as a Diagnosed Obsessive-Compulsive™️, but to me… any attempt to concretely answer the question “am I bisexual” via self analysis is a losing game. The real test of whether or not you’re bisexual is simply “does it feel correct when I use this label?” — and if it doesn’t, well, you’re something else. Maybe you’re straight, maybe you’re gay, maybe you’re ace, maybe you’re pan, maybe you’re amorphously queer and unable to be boxed in. But there’s no grand bisexual check list you can fill out that will prove or disprove your bisexuality*. The only “proof” is whether calling yourself bisexual feels right.
* In before someone mentions the Lesbian Masterdoc, which I personally do not love
Ooooh will there be a piece on The Lesbian Masterdoc, if there hasn't been one already? 👀
I think I told you but it bears repeating: it was how you talked about your OCD and your bisexuality that helped illuminate that's what I am. I'm not sure if I have a mild case of OCD, or simply anxiety and some compulsions, but either way your writing of the two was helpful.