Unlearning and breaking the stigma associated with the bisexual identity
Being a member of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community is hard. A large part of your identity is under near-constant scrutiny. What is usually considered a private aspect of your life becomes a matter of public discourse. Bisexuality can be understood as an umbrella term, encompassing several more specific identities related to sexuality. As someone who falls under this umbrella term, I have experienced discrimination for my sexuality from loved ones and strangers.
I am a non-binary, bisexual person in a relationship with a cisgender heterosexual man. I only mention that I am non-binary because I was assigned female at birth and am often perceived as such. Being perceived as a woman is troubling at times, but it has taught me a lot about biphobia in cis-heteronormative and 2SLGBTQIA+ spaces.
When I am out with my partner, no one gives us a second glance because we seem just like any other heterosexual couple. That is not the truth. Our relationship is inherently queer because I am queer.
Regardless of which space I am in, I often get the same reaction when I tell people I am bisexual and in a relationship with a man. It is along the lines of, “so, you are basically straight then”. Not only does this belittle and disregard a large part of my identity, but it also does so for every bisexual person out there in seemingly heterosexual relationships.
A similar reaction is experienced by bisexual people in same-sex relationships, along the lines of, “so, you are basically gay then”. Either way, the bisexual identity is erased to cater to black or white ways of thinking, which appease both heteronormative and homonormative ideals.
As I have only been in serious relationships with men, I spoke to some bisexual friends and explored 2SLGBTQIA+ communities online to learn more about this sort of reaction. I was horrified to discover that the same black or white way of thinking is also applied to bisexual people within 2SLGBTQIA+ spaces. I could not stop thinking about how bisexual people are isolated by the same community that is meant to include them.
The sheer shock I felt when I first learned how contested the bisexual identity is in all spaces has not dissipated. I had always expected pushback from cis-heteronormative society, but I am appalled that many bisexual people still are not accepted by 2SLGBTQIA+ spaces. As far as I can recall, the “B” in 2SLGBTQIA+ stands for bisexual.
I often hesitate to tell people I am bisexual or to tell those who know, that I am in a relationship with a cis heterosexual man. I wish that I, and other bisexual people, did not have to feel uneasy about sharing a part of themselves. Discrimination on any basis, including someone’s sexuality, is an archaic action from a bygone era. It’s time to accept others for who they are and make an active effort to make sure people do not feel alienated from the spaces meant to include them. It’s time to say bye to biphobia.
I remember the first time I went to the Student Wellness Centre to get tested for sexually transmitted infections. I took my best friend with me because I was nervous; I had this weird fear that somehow my tests would get shared with my family doctor and that my family doctor would tell my parents. My parents would not have been cool with that.
When the doctor asked me why I wanted to get tested, I shyly explained that I had sex with someone whom I didn’t know the status of and I just wanted to be safe. The doctor asked if I thought I might be pregnant. I paused and then said I had slept only with women. I waited, scanned the doctor’s face for a hint of disapproval, disgust or a scowl. It never came.
They were extremely nice and non-judgemental, reassuring me that no news would be good news and encouraged me to check out some of the pamphlets at the front of the office. When I left, I briefly scanned them, seeing some titled “Sex for Lesbians”. I remember looking away quickly, in case someone caught me and would know my secret.
The next time I was asked about my sexual activity, I told the doctor “yes, I was sexually active” and they asked me if I used protection. I said “no” and I got a look of mild disapproval. They went on to recommend that two forms of birth control should be used at all times. I nodded knowingly and then finally said, “I’m gay.” For a moment they looked a bit taken aback before saying, “Oh, okay” and the conversation continued.
These two encounters happened five years apart. During the first I was scared and nervous. I was waiting for judgement to come my way. In the second, I was a lot more confident in my sexuality and even though it was mildly annoying to have to correct the assumptions made about me, I wasn’t afraid to do it.
For some people who identify as 2SLGBTQIA+, these types of encounters can be nerve wracking. It sucks to have people assume who you’re sleeping with and what genitals your partner (or partners) may have. While healthcare providers are getting better at being non-assuming, disclosing sexuality and sexual preferences in these encounters can be terrifying, especially because you never really know how someone can react.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a doctor. I remember my grandma watching over me as I played doctor with my stuffed animals, preparing to listen to their heartbeats and sew them back together. Pretty cliché, I know. This past year, my childhood dreams came true as I started medical school at the Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine here at McMaster University.
I’ll give McMaster some credit for making sure that we have some education around 2SLGBQIA+ health. We were taught to ask for pronouns in encounters, though no one really ever reinforces it. We had a session in our professional competencies class in which we talked about how to be more inclusive. There are efforts being made and I appreciate it. I hope that it means less people will have to feel as though heterosexuality is assumed when they go to the doctor’s office.
In medical school, we are encouraged to reflect on our privilege. Part of my reflection has been that to be the best doctor I want to be, it will include advocating for 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. I want to be a role model for students that want to become doctors as a queer person of colour. Just like the way my queerness guides the way I dress, it also guides where my passion for advocacy lies.
I want to demonstrate that asking for pronouns in medical encounters shouldn’t be awkward or weird. I want there to be more education on how to best talk to and treat 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. This isn’t just about who I am anymore, it’s about the future patients I and my colleagues will have.
In our session around 2SLGBTQIA+ health, I remember another student said that they’ve never thought about these topics before. I was baffled to hear that because thinking about these topics is a very common part of my life. Due to my own lived experiences, I could share with my classmates that feeling of apprehension about going to the doctor’s office. I shared that for me, the rainbow flags were important to see in an office, as it eased my mind a bit. For myself and others in the community, this is the reality of our world, but it’s not reality for others. I feel poised in my position to bridge those two worlds in an attempt to make medical visits less daunting for this community.
I’ve become more open about my sexuality over this past year. I’ve been trying to incorporate non-judgemental and non-assuming phrases into clinical history taking to avoid the heterosexuality norms that are taught in medical school. I still have a lot more to learn and more work to do, but I know that to live up to my full potential as a doctor, it will include highlighting the health of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community.
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I remember the first time I went to the Student Wellness Centre to get tested for STIs. I took my best friend with me because I was nervous; I had this weird fear that somehow my tests would get shared with my family doctor and that my family doctor would tell my parents. My parents would not have been cool with that.
When the doctor asked me why I wanted to get tested, I shyly explained that I had sex with someone whom I didn’t know the status of and I just wanted to be safe. The doctor asked if I thought I might be pregnant. I paused and then said I had slept only with women. I waited, scanned the doctor’s face for a hint of disapproval, disgust or a scowl. It never came. They were extremely nice and non-judgemental, reassuring me that no news would be good news and encouraged me to check out some of the pamphlets at the front of the office. When I left, I briefly scanned them, seeing some titled “Sex for Lesbians”. I remember looking away quickly, in case someone caught me and would know my secret.
The next time I was asked about my sexual activity, I told the doctor yes, I was sexually active and they asked me if I used protection. I said no and I got a look of mild disapproval. They went on to recommend that two forms of birth control should be used at all times. I nodded knowingly and then finally said, “I’m gay.” For a moment they looked a bit taken aback before saying, “Oh, okay” and the conversation continued.
These two encounters happened five years apart. During the first I was scared and nervous. I was waiting for judgement to come my way. In the second, I was a lot more confident in my sexuality and even though it was mildly annoying to have to correct the assumptions made about me, I wasn’t afraid to do it.
However, for some people who identify as 2SLGBTQIA+, these types of encounters can be nerve wracking. It sucks to have people assume who you’re sleeping with and what genitals your partner (or partners) may have. While healthcare providers are getting better at being non-assuming, disclosing sexuality and sexual preferences in these encounters can be terrifying, especially because you never really know how someone can react.
Now, for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a doctor. I remember my grandma watching over me as I played doctor with my stuffed animals, preparing to listen to their heartbeats and sew them back together. Pretty cliché, I know. This past year, my childhood dreams came true as I started medical school at the Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine here at McMaster University.
I grew up in a religious household in a pretty conservative town. Unsurprisingly, a family member told me not tell people I was gay for fear of what harm may fall on me. I know they were just trying to look out for me in their own way, but it was disheartening to hear. I pushed that aside because I had more pressing matters like figuring out my career, not failing medical school and trying to learn anatomy without the chance to go to an anatomy lab (thank you, COVID). Having been in the closet for much of my life, coming out to people still stresses me out and will probably stress me out for the rest of my life.
I’ll give McMaster some credit for making sure that we have some education around 2SLGBQIA+ health. We were taught to ask for pronouns in encounters, though no one really ever reinforces it. We had a session in our professional competencies class in which we talked about how to be more inclusive. There are efforts being made and I appreciate it. I hope that it means less people will have to feel as though heterosexuality is assumed when they go to the doctor’s office.
I came out in my last year of high school to my best friends and since then, I’m pretty open around the people I meet. I’ve been meaning to come out publicly for a while but there was never any timeline I had in mind. That was until I started medical school.
It is not lost on me the privilege that I have as a soon-to-be doctor. I remember how easy it was for me to get a loan from the bank, just based on the fact that I’ll make money someday. Doctors are held in high regard in our society and while that is probably warranted most of the time given their role as healers and helpers, I am also acutely aware that the medical profession has hurt a number of communities. Healthcare for marginalized individuals is not always so amazing and for some, there is mistrust in the healthcare field. People can get left on the sidelines when they don’t fit the mold of the average patient.
In medical school, we are encouraged to reflect on our privilege. Part of my reflection has been that to be the best doctor I want to be, it will include advocating for 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. I want to be a role model for students that want to become doctors as a queer person of colour. Just like the way my queerness guides the way I dress, it also guides where my passion for advocacy lies. I want to demonstrate that asking for pronouns in medical encounters shouldn’t be awkward or weird. I want there to be more education on how to best talk to and treat 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. This isn’t just about who I am anymore, it’s about the future patients I and my colleagues will have.
In our session around 2SLGBTQIA+ health, I remember another student saying that they’ve, “never thought of these topics before”. I was baffled to hear that, because thinking about these topics is a very common part of my life. Because of my own lived experiences, I could share with my classmates that feeling of apprehension about going to the doctor’s office. I shared that for me, the rainbow flags were important to see in an office, as it eased my mind a bit. For myself and others in the community, this is the reality of our world, but it’s not reality for others. I feel poised in my position to bridge those two worlds in an attempt to make medical visits less daunting for this community.
Examining stigma on bisexuality from both ends of the sexuality spectrum
Biphobia: let’s talk about it. Loosely defined as an aversion towards bisexuality and bisexual people as individuals, biphobia is a concept that’s not too well understood, nor talked about enough. In recent years, the topic of sexuality has been a highly discussed topic, with the idea of free love becoming more and more accepted in the world today.
The introduction of 2SLGBTQIA+ characters in books, television and film has led to an increase in representation of the community, making it a lot easier for the community to live than it has been in the past. Though some people think that the entirety of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community is fully integrated, it’s still not an equal place for all members and among one of the more misunderstood members of this community are the individuals within the “B”; Bisexuals.
Though in recent years the population has gained a higher understanding for homosexuality, popular culture has fed into the idea that sexuality is a binary choice, essentially meaning that a person can only be attracted to one gender at once. Historically, bisexuality was dismissed as a “secondary sexuality”, implying that bisexual people were either closeted gay/lesbian individuals trying to appear “heterosexual”, or a heterosexual person “going through a phase”.
Contrary to popular belief, biphobia can be experienced within the 2SLGBTQIA+ community just as much as within the heterosexual community. Oftentimes, bisexuals are labelled as trying to escape oppression by conforming to social expectations of sexuality and love, leaving them to be viewed as “not real” members of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, because they are “straight-passing”.
A substantial issue is that bisexual men are either assumed to be gay or homophobic, increasing the want to conform to being either hetero or homosexual. This is pretty substantial and is supported through research, as a 2013 report by the Pew Research Center confirmed that only 12% of bisexual American males are ‘out’.
Along with this, bisexual women are fetishised, or said to be attention-seeking. This can be heavily seen through the experience of Megan Barton-Hansen, a bisexual competitor on Love Island. Instead of allowing her to freely explore and publicize her sexuality, internet users were quick to announce their beliefs that she was just “playing” her bisexuality and would ultimately end up with a man.
This bi-erasure is also seen in other celebrities, namely pop icon Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga is an openly bisexual woman. She’s spoken out about her sexuality more than once and revealed that her song ‘Poker Face’ is about her own personal experience with her sexuality. But through this, her sexuality is often ignored and she’s been accused of lying more than once about it. The Grammy Awards have even named Sam Smith as “the first [2SLGBTQIA+] person to win Best Pop Vocal Album”, even though Lady Gaga has already previously won that title.
“I may not, to some people, be considered a part of [the 2SLGBTQIA+] community, even though I like girls sometimes,” said Gaga to a group of people at 2019 World Pride in New York.
Pop singer Halsey has had similar experiences, with critics of her music video for her song ‘Strangers’ stating that the video was not queer enough. “It literally is a bisexual story . . . [Luna’s] relationship with a man doesn’t nullify her bisexuality. Not in an imaginary music video universe and not in real life either,” said Halsey on Twitter.
Bisexual representation in film and television is something that we need to discuss too. In 2018, the British Film Institute argued that bisexuals aren’t often explored in film and this is something that must be amended. Though television has had a better run with representation with characters such as Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones), Callie Torres (Grey’s Anatomy), Frank Underwood (House of Cards), Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine) and Annalise Keating (How to Get Away with Murder). There is still a lot of work to be done in ensuring that bisexuality is represented in the media and it is done without propagating any further stigma.
It’s been found that the constant marginalization that bisexual individuals face has had negative impacts on their physical health. A 2013 Pew Research Center report found that bisexuals have higher rates of anxiety and depressive disorders than straight and gay people; are at a higher likelihood for youth risk behavior; are more likely to develop eating disorders; heart disease and take up drinking or smoking and are less likely to feel very accepted in the workplace. Biphobia and bi-erasure is real and it can lead to serious physical harm of people within this community.
Bisexuality cannot be ignored when same-sex couples are not featured. Being with someone of the opposite gender does not make a person ‘straight’ and featuring a bisexual person in a relationship with the opposite sex does not make them any less queer. Given that a lot of people cannot come out to their families as bisexual without being told that it is simply a phase, we need to fight for ensuring that bisexuality, alongside all other sexualities and gender identities within the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, is treated with the respect and acceptance that it deserves.
Hamilton-based drag queen reveals the impact of the pandemic on drag shows and how she has kept her artistry alive
When the series of lockdowns began in Ontario last fall and all public gatherings were put on halt, live performers, including drag queens, were faced with the challenge of keeping the art and community alive from home. However, despite months of stay-at-home orders and cancelled shows, drag queens of Hamilton have proven their resilience and unfaltering devotion to their craft by employing creative digital ways of connecting with their audience.
Like many of us, Karma Kameleon, a Hamilton-based drag queen, didn’t initially know what to do with all the extra time or how to stay connected with her community. Kameleon started performing three years ago and was about to launch her full-time career in drag when the COVID-19 pandemic hit hard in March of last year, cancelling her shows in 10 cities across Ontario. It was devastating to have her long-awaited goal interrupted so suddenly without warning.
To cope with the loss of a physical stage, Kameleon and other drag queens turned to digital content creation. At first, most people remained hopeful that this would be a short-term solution and that live, in-person shows would be back on soon. However, as time went on and reliance on digital platforms became heavier and more important, more queens got creative with their online performances and experimented with various platforms, starting with livestreams.
One of the most memorable livestreams Kameleon did was for St. Patrick’s Day because everyone was still inexperienced in the digital drag era. It was filmed from her decorated basement and although she described it as a “disaster”, it was supported by a great audience. Besides the learning curve of online content creation, Kameleon said the biggest obstacle has been copyright infringements. As livestreams became more popular among drag queens, copyrights forced their videos to get taken down or blocked, pressuring them to get even more innovative with the types of content and move onto other digital outlets such as music videos, Instagram and TikTok.
Kameleon also took on a challenge to improve her makeup and sewing skills during the months in lockdown. She was more known for her comedy and stage performances than her looks. Having extra time for personal skill growth made her more proud, more confident and happier with her artistry.
Despite building a successful online presence during the pandemic and maintaining the art of drag digitally, Kameleon said ultimately, nothing could compensate for the lost experiences of in-house shows.
“I’ve tried every avenue of digital drag and at some point, it just kind of stagnates. I’m glad to have any amount of a platform or any amount of an audience, but after a while I just missed the instant gratification of saying something stupid and someone laughing,” Kameleon said.
Kameleon desperately missed the experiences of being swept up by the atmosphere of a crowd, fighting with seven other drag queens for a mirror and being able to develop a higher level of human connection through real, in-person interactions. Every moment of normalcy she got back during the gaps between lockdowns made her realize how much she missed every aspect of performing live and a greater appreciation for the community of continuous supporters. When Ontario announced its reopening plans, she was beyond grateful to have in-person shows started up again.
Her favourite part about live performances is when only one or two people are paying attention to her song in the beginning but by the end, watching more and more people begin to put down their phones and get captivated by her eccentric performance. That’s the kind of human connection that she longed for the most.
Kemeleon’s first return to live shows was on June 18 at Absinthe Hamilton with the House of Adam and Steve. Her biggest worry during the pandemic was whether she would still have an audience when she could have live shows again.
But to her surprise, the response was overwhelming. The patio reached full capacity and a long line up crowded the streets.
“[During the pandemic], you could have an audience, but you couldn’t necessarily charge a price for there to be audience . . . But as we’ve kind of moved forward, I’m trying this brand-new thing of actually charging for my shows and I was terrified no one would show up. But the response has been phenomenal,” Kameleon said.
Especially in a city like Hamilton without an established queer scene or a dedicated queer space, the resilience of the arts in the city was heartwarming to observe.
Kameleon also missed working with other queens during the months spent doing at-home online shows. The sisterhood of being in a community of individuals with similar struggles, experiences and backstories is an important source of support for any drag queen.
As Ontario enters the next stage in the reopening plan, Kameleon is most excited to showcase her growth as an entertainer over the past year. She also hopes to help reshape the drag scene to ensure artists are treated with respect and compensated fairly for the work that they do.
“[As we are] talking to the people who are part of the [drag] scene in every city, there is this understanding of, ‘Now that we know what it’s like not to have it and now that we know what we miss about it, we also kind of know what we deserve,’” Kameleon said.
More importantly, she is looking forward to more diversity in the drag community and the reopening of the world through the lens of everything that has happened last year, especially regarding the Black Lives Matter movement, Stop Asian Hate movement and the treatment of Indigenous peoples in Canada. She hopes to see the world and the drag community in Hamilton move forward with a more open and inclusive mindset and more credit given to people of colour in the drag scene.
If you love drag or appreciation for any of the arts, Kameleon encourages the local community to provide any form of support. Even if you can’t financially support an artist, every like, comment, or reshare is a form of support that can help boost their online platform and help their art feel more validated after a difficult past year.
Afterlife Theatre’s inaugural play tackles questions of performativity and allyship in the racial justice movement
C/O Afterlife Theatre
Two key issues faced by social justice movements are maintaining momentum and managing the tension between genuine allyship and performativity. The latter can be particularly daunting in our digital age where “slacktivism”, also known as performative activism, can be common and difficult to address because individuals often don’t recognize their actions are more hurtful than helpful. Afterlife Theatre’s inaugural play, It’s a Beautiful Day for Brunch and to Arrest the Cops that Killed Breonna Taylor, aims to tackle these questions while also highlighting the process that is anti-racist work.
A pandemic project between two long-time friends, Carly Billings and Patrick Teed founded Afterlife Theatre as a way to help showcase the political theatre they wanted to see in the world. Their first play, which will debut at Hamilton Fringe Festival in July, is a verbatim cringe comedy inspired by the absurd and awkward ways non-Black people responded to the resurgence of the racial justice movement last summer, following the murder of George Floyd.
“We're trying to come at it from an approachable way to open the door for especially other non-Black people to attend our show and realize, maybe what they thought is helpful isn't helpful,” explained Billings.
“We describe it as a cringe comedy, because there's a lot of really awkward things that are said that are both funny and discomforting. It’s a cringe comedy on how racial justice work goes terribly wrong when people do it without any sense of accountability or association to the work that is already being done,” said Teed.
As verbatim theatre, the play draws on real posts and things that people have said on social media. The idea behind the play is one Billings and Teed have had for a while, inspired and horrified by some of what they were seeing on social media during their own work to engage with the racial justice movement as non-Black people, but everything really came together when they found out Hamilton Fringe was going digital this year.
“Carly and I were just like brainstorming ideas of what is a justifiable theater piece to do digitally and then we're like, “Oh, that idea about the ways people confessed their attempts at race politics online, because it was already this kind of digital phenomenon, right?” And so, we could play into that, through the fact that we're doing it in a digital space…And we had so many friends that were already archiving things, being like, “Oh, if you ever do this show you're joking about this needs to be in there,” or “this needs to be in there”. So, it just kind of all clicked when Hamilton fringe was like we're doing a digital portion of the festival,” explained Teed.
Both Billings and Teed are acting in the play, along with Roselyne Dougé-Charles and Liz Whitbread. The four knew each other prior to this and Teed had noted one upside of the digital format was they got to work together despite being in different cities.
Dougé-Charles in particular has been involved in the writing of the play, particularly theat parts that are not verbatim theatre.
“We're hoping that the narrative kind of leads people to listen and to listen to somebody who matters. In the end, spoiler alert person who matters is Rosie,” said Billings.
Billings and Teed hope the play raises difficult questions about how we engage with racial injustice in Canada and what it means to work in solidarity with racial justice movements as a non-Black person.
“The main takeaway is that if you want to engage in questions about racial justice, and particularly about stopping anti-Blackness — and you should want to engage [with] those questions —that requires work on your part, actual work. If you're doing something and it feels easy, or makes you feel good, you're probably doing it wrong,” explained Teed.
“And also, I wouldn't feel upset if people came and were're like, “Oh, my goodness!” because if you outrage some people, then in my mind, we're kind of on the right track, because it might not be a show for everybody, but I think it's a show that everybody needs to hear,” added Billings.
They also hope it highlights the process that is anti-racist work. Anti-racist work is not something that ends, and it certainly doesn’t end with a post on social media.
“[A] lot of times, I don't think that folks know that they're being harmful or hurtful in their performativity. I think they think they're genuine. And so that's a big reason why we decided that this piece was not only timely, but important. It's a year out from last summer, when everything came to a huge head and the protests worldwide were occurring. [Every day],In my every day, I still engage with a lot of this work, but I know a lot of folks who came out real strong in the beginning and just faded back, and it's a year later, what do we have to show for it?” noted Billings.
“We obviously don't think that our show is like the be all end. We're kind of hoping for it to be a springboard for people to think and do things differently,” said Teed.
Both also encouraged students to attend, recognizing that not only are students often more open to learning and listening, but also that many of the questions their play deals withgrapples with are ones Billings and Teed themselves have been trying to work through since their own university careers.
“I think being a student offers a really amazing perspective. You're already in a learning environment, you're already probably approaching the world with a more open heart than, say, some people who are more set in their ways…I think that a student is perfectly poised to come to this work and be excited or be engaged,” said Billings.
“We're trying to work through problems that we have been trying to work through since University, when we were taking classes on things like settler colonialism, white supremacy. The questions our undergraduate experience gave us are what we are carrying through and trying to work through this piece, so I think there's resonance there as well [for students],” added Teed.
Social justice movements, including anti-racist work, are processes and part of the process is asking difficult questions and confronting the implications of our own actions, so we can recognize where we need to do better. Afterlife Theatre’s inaugural play is an example of how art can provoke and offer a way into these questions.
It’s a Beautiful Day for Brunch and to Arrest the Cops that Killed Breonna Taylor can be viewed during Hamilton Fringe Festival from July 15 – 25, 2021.
How to learn and respect other people’s pronouns
Alright, so your friend asked you to call them “they/them” and you don’t know what in the heck they mean by that. Well, look no further — here’s a handy how-to guide on respecting other people’s identities. This article is based on the assumption that you want to learn how to get better at using pronouns. It is not intended to convince you that you should respect who people are — that’s just common decency.
So let’s jump in. How do you know what to call someone? One of the best ways is to offer your own pronouns first. You could include them in your email signature, or say them when you introduce yourself to someone.
“Hello,” you might say. “My name is Jackie and my pronouns are she/her.”
This lets people know that you’re more likely to be accepting of their own identity. People aren’t obligated to tell you their pronouns, but sharing yours can help others feel more comfortable around you.
In English, the most common gender-neutral pronoun is “they”. Singular “they” has been used for hundreds of years to talk about people whose gender we do not know. When you check your Dominos order, it will tell you that the delivery person is on “their” way. However, “they” is not the only alternative to she and he.
Some people prefer to use neopronouns — pronouns specifically designed to convey a specific gender experience in a way that traditional pronouns cannot. Some examples include: xe/xem/xyr, ze/hir/hirs, ey/em/eir and fae/faer/faers. These pronouns are also frequently used in languages where there is not a neutral pronoun like “they”. If someone tells you that they use one of these sets of pronouns and you’re not sure how to pronounce it, just ask!
No one’s experience and identification is universal. It’s vital to pay attention and respect how people want to be understood. Gender is a unique experience and it can vary on a person-to-person basis.
Let’s walk through an example. Someone that you know comes out as gender fluid and asks you to use she/they pronouns. They tell you that they are comfortable being called “she” and being called “they”. That’s great! You should alternate between the two: “I was talking to my friend the other day, she said she’s doing well. They’re on their way to school right now.”
There will be points where you think to yourself: “I’m doing my best, but I keep making mistakes!” That’s okay. Like with anything, it takes practice to get it right. When you make a mistake, you can take a moment to repeat to yourself the person’s name and the pronouns that they use. You could hang out with a mutual friend and practice together.
If you use the wrong pronouns, that’s okay too. You don’t need to feel defensive or make a big deal out of it. Just notice the error, correct yourself and move on with the conversation. If you trip over yourself apologizing, the other person could feel guilty and won’t feel comfortable correcting you in future.
It’s also important to be flexible. Identities are not set in stone. Your friend might ask you to use only she/her pronouns, or they/them instead. They might switch the label they use for their identity. The better you get at using the right pronouns, the easier it will be for you to switch. With that being said, different identities are not a phase and it is vital that you remember that.
Like any new skill, there’s a learning curve to using the right pronouns. For most people, it’s not something they’re used to. But the more you practice, the easier it gets.
Making the case for why kink, leather and BDSM belong at Pride
If you have ever attended a Pride parade, you may have experienced the vibrant festivities featuring an endless stream of colourful floats, merchandise and ecstatic music. This is, as cisgender, heterosexual and white-dominant society deems it, a palatable celebration of 2SLGBTQIA+ community.
In conflict with this “ideal” representation of the community is the supposedly distasteful involvement and attendance of the kink/leather community at Pride. Consider the following controversial, now deleted, viral tweet: “Please don’t bring your k*nks/fet*shes to Pride, there are minors at Pride and this can sexualize the event.”
Although it is understandable that parents have a desire to specifically curate an ideal environment for their children, this unfortunately manifests as a relentlessly regressive attempt to hide any semblance of sex and kinks from youth. This rhetoric is harmful on innumerable levels, emphasizing that sex and sexual desire is inherently gross — that sex is taboo.
As such, attempting to eradicate any mention of sex and kink from Pride both serves to appease the cishet, white and able-bodied world. It connotes that queer sex specifically is dirty and shameful. In essence, stigmatizing sex and kink at Pride contradicts Pride’s intent: a protest spearheaded by sex workers and various intersectional subcultures within the 2SLGBTQIA+ community aiming for consensual queer sexual and cultural liberation. Queer sex, in itself, is inherently an act of rebellion.
This distaste towards kink and leather at Pride is also based on a fundamental misunderstanding on what the subcommunities themselves stand for. While it is easy to categorize them as being simply overtly sexual, it is important to emphasize that these were, above all, communities by and for queer and trans individuals to find family and the sex-positive empowerment that they were denied. For countless individuals who were rejected by friends and family, leather bars and clubs became safe spaces for them.
The Stonewall Uprising itself additionally has connections to kink, considering that numerous patrons of the bar were Black and Latinx trans women of colour, drag queens —which at the time, were considered cross dressers by cishet police officers and were policed — and leather daddies. Essentially, the kink and leather community, a notable number of which are Black and Latinx Trans folks, laid major groundwork for queer rights.
During the height of the AIDS epidemic, when cishet political figures, including Ronald Reagan, the then-President of the United States, were dismissive towards the so-called “gay plague,” patients with AIDS were estranged from society and effectively othered. It was the kink and leather community who stepped up, dedicating their time to embrace AIDS patients when disease transmission mechanisms were unknown. Such AIDS patients and Leather caregivers lived in “leather families,” communities of individuals who would unconditionally care for one another when biological relations refused to. In addition, the Kink and Leather community began hosting parties and BDSM events to fundraise for patients' costly care funds.
The Kink and Leather communities’ contributions during the AIDS epidemic and to the 2SLGBTQIA+ community were so great that the city of San Francisco recently openly commended them for their work, some appreciation long overdue.
No one has any right to litigate how individuals should identify, behave and express themselves to be valid within the 2SLGBTQIA+ community. Yet, unfortunately, we see this narrative occurring frequently, both from cishet society and the 2SLGBTQIA+ community. We witness society expressing transphobic rhetoric, questioning as to whether or not asexual and aromatic folks really belong and debating the validity of the leather and kink community, even considering their immense contributions to queer rights. However, it is essential to note that nobody should need to contribute to 2SLGBTQIA+ advocacy in order to prove their validity. They are valid simply for being them. To uphold such an expectation is to aid in reinforcing the homophobic and transphobic narrative created by dominant white, cisgender, heterosexual and able-bodied society.
We cannot abandon community members without reinforcing our oppression by cishet society's homogenized and “pristine” ideal of what the 2SLGBTQIA+ should look like. Kink and leather belong at Pride because above all, they are woven into it’s foundations: queer joy and sexual liberation for all.
