I spent the majority of Pride Month checked out from any online discourse due to, you know, my dad dying, so I wouldn’t say that I was particularly on top of the various biphobic microaggressions that bubbled up on the various social media sites people hang out on these days. But I did see some — a viral tweet about bi women with boyfriends at home being the most enthusiastic Pride celebrants is the one that immediately pops to mind.
Whenever people tweet these things, and there’s inevitable backlash, the response is predictably something along the lines of “if mean jokes are the worst bisexuals have to deal with, they should be grateful.” If you’ve been reading this newsletter for a while, you’re undoubtedly aware that mean jokes aren’t the worst thing bisexuals have to deal with — there’s elevated poverty rates, poor mental and physical health, increased rates of abuse and assault, and suicidality — but let’s talk about those mean comments for a second.
I think it’s pretty facile to argue that jokes are always just jokes; bullying, after all, is frequently nothing more than words, yet it’s still understood to be deeply damaging. The thing that differentiates “just a joke” from “harassment and bullying” is the balance of power. A Black person who mocks white people is, as they say, “punching up;” a white person who does the reverse is enforcing a racialized power dynamic. Fundamentally, the question of whether bisexuals are simply the butt of some lighthearted digs or the victims of cruel bullying hinges on how much power bisexuals actually have.
To the people who endlessly tweet “jokes” about bisexuals, it is presumably clear that we have more power than our LG peers. Bisexuals, after all, have the option of pursuing heterosexual relationships with people we actually are attracted to (as opposed to gays and lesbians, who of course are free to pursue heterosexual relationships — think of all the closeted folks in straight marriages! — but don’t find them fulfilling). But that feels like a pretty slim justification for seeing bisexuals as inherently privileged, especially when by other measures of power — how comfortable we are being out, how readily we see ourselves represented in media and in leadership roles, how many resources are reserved for us — we are severely lagging behind.
And if it’s bullying, well — there’s a reason why so many of us have raised concerns about comedians who are “just joking” about trans people and gays and lesbians. Bullying actually does come with consequences. And that’s worth recognizing.
A brief footnote about Rock Hudson:
Last night I watched Rock Hudson: All That Heaven Allowed (currently streaming on Max) with my mom. It’s a really fantastic documentary about the life and tragic death of a closeted Hollywood hunk, and you should absolutely watch it. But I also wanted to make mention of a small detail that jumped out at me. At one point, the documentary talks about the mid-century speculation about Hudson’s sexuality. Notably, there weren’t just rumors that Hudson might gay; at one point, the text of an on screen letter notes that some suspected Hudson might be “homosexual or bisexual.” Anyone who tries to tell you that being bisexual is a privilege in a homophobic world — that a bi Rock Hudson might have been spared the oppression of a gay one — is kidding themselves. Just wanted to point that out!
Ugh, the jokes. I only realized I’m bi a few years ago, during the pandemic. I’m married to a guy, so I don’t present as such. Last year, I went to a queer women’s meetup at a lesbian bar, hoping to make some friends in town after a move. It was my first time being in a queer space as a queer person.
There were a number of jokes told that night at the expense of bi women (I also had someone express confusion about my presence after I said I was married to a guy!). It was honestly very disheartening to experience exclusion in that space. It’s made me cautious about exploring that part of myself.