Reclaiming “Bisexual”
By: Kravitz M.
Tags: LGBTQ, Sexuality, Identity, Kravitz M, Queer

Reclaiming “Bisexual”

Labels as bandaids for — and reinforcers of — internalized biphobia

Source: Chris Allan, Shutterstock

Many new words have popped up in the past few decades to describe bisexuality, such as “fluid,” “heteroflexible,” and “pansexual.” There are some I enjoy (e.g., “equal-opportunity lover”), some I’m indifferent to, and others I find troublesome — but that’s neither here nor there. Here, I want to discuss how internalized biphobia may influence how people who experience both similar- and different-gender attraction choose (or refuse) to identify themselves.

Definitions of Bisexuality: A Refresher

From the American Institute of Bisexuality:

Bisexuality is a broad and inclusive term that describes physical attraction, romantic attraction, or sexual behavior that is not limited to one sex… In everyday language, depending on the speaker’s culture, background, and politics, that translates into a variety of everyday definitions such as: • Attraction to men and women

• Attraction to all sexes or genders

•Attraction to same and other genders

• Love beyond gender

•Attraction regardless of sex or gender

What Is Internalized Biphobia?

Internalized biphobia can be summed up as “[t]he internalized belief that bisexuality is somehow lesser or something of which one should be ashamed.” It’s an incredibly common, mentally damaging phenomenon for bisexuals that can take years for us to even recognize, let alone work through. It often induces low self-esteem, depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and even suicidality.

Some examples of internalized biphobia include: Being convinced you’re not bisexual enough, constantly questioning if you’re “actually” gay or straight or just identifying as bisexual for attention, feeling like you’re not a full member of the LGBTQ community unless you’re in a same-gender relationship, thinking biphobia isn’t as serious of a problem as homophobia, feeling like you need to date men and women at the same time to “truly” be bisexual, feeling guilty for being polyamorous or sexual because you think you reinforce stereotypes, feeling deceitful if you don’t come out to your partners, being ashamed of your attraction to a certain gender, questioning the validity of your attraction or experiences, and many more.

The facet we’ll be focusing on here, though, is thinking that the word “bisexual” itself is shameful, dirty, or limiting; being scared of saying “bisexual” out loud and using euphemisms to avoid it.

Now, I don’t think wanting to identify as something other than bisexual is automatically a sign of internalized biphobia. I’ve contemplated identifying as “same-gender-loving” (an Afrocentric term for black same-gender-attracted people) alongside “bisexual,” and some legitimate reasons may exist to have misgivings about the latter (which I’ll get to later). However, quite a few folks who avoid the “bisexual” label do suffer from internalized biphobia or hold misconceptions about bisexuality. I can’t blame them — society relentlessly erases us from the public eye, obscuring our history and literature. The media completely censored us from 1934 to 1968. Even the LG(B)TQ community smothers bisexuality, despite us comprising up to half of all LG(B!)TQ people.

To those who use other labels (or none at all), I’m not trying to say you’re wrong about who you’re attracted to, because the ways you describe your sexuality are also ways that many bisexuals do. I’m not even really telling you that you need to identify as bisexual. Rather, I think it’s valuable to at least question why you’re uncomfortable using “bisexual” to describe yourself. From personal experience, the answer could be deeper than you think.

Biphobia Has Robbed Us of Bisexuality

A while ago, for another essay, I asked an acquaintance of mine about their experiences in the Queer Theory class he currently attends. One of the things he told me was this: “My professor started making offhanded comments about how she didn’t know how ‘negative’ bisexuality was… she kept just talking about how no one likes the word ‘bisexual’ anymore.”

The word “anymore” in that sentence caused my brow to furrow because, frankly, this idea seems to have been around since people first started calling themselves bisexual — as early as the 1970s (bisexuality has only been a reclaimed self-identity for about twenty years at this point), people were (wrongfully) calling it “outdated,” something whose time has already passed. On the other side of this coin, people view bisexuality as a new fashion trend, something we “discover” over and over again.

This phenomenon of treating bisexuality as simultaneously modern and primitive has been examined by scholars. The point is, though, at no point did the public “like” this word. We have always been painted as, in one way or another, regressive or lesser. But the various reasons people do this (and the fact that people of essentially every other sexual identity besides “bisexual” do this) reveal that it isn’t just the letters they have an issue with. When does constant pessimism towards the word “bisexual” itself just become another form of discrimination against the people who identify as such? Is there even a clear line between these things, especially when discourse surrounding it so often dismisses our concerns and experiences?

Many definitions of terms presented as “alternatives” to bisexuality define it in biphobic and transphobic ways, and thus routinely define themselves in bigoted ways. For instance, many self-identified pansexuals within the past three decades describe pansexuality as “attraction to transgender/nonbinary people” or “attraction to people, not genitals,” as opposed to (their idea of) bisexuality being “attraction only to cisgender men and women.”

The fact that these harmful explanations are so widespread is an inescapable issue. People insisting that we can’t use the word “bisexual” to name attraction regardless of gender is a problem. People thinking that bisexuals can’t have broad, inclusive values or outlooks on gender is a problem. Treating transgender people as a separate category from men and women, or otherwise implying that it takes a unique, more “progressive” label to be attracted to transgender and nonbinary people is a problem. People feeling ashamed of identifying as bisexual — or believing that they surely aren’t bisexual — because of these mindsets is a problem.

As someone who used to identify as pansexual, it gets troublesome when most people with alternative labels, some of which have unpleasant histories of antagonizing bisexuality, are youth. This is doubly the case when many young people get their information from social media pages that don’t even source their claims.

We all grew up in a society telling us that bisexuals are gross, hypersexual freaks desperate for attention. These youths discover their attraction to multiple genders — but they’re not hypersexual or attention-seeking like those dirty bisexuals they keep hearing about, so they can’t possibly be bisexual, can they? And they have no clue what “internalized biphobia” even means, let alone how to recognize it, because they likely have little contact with bisexual people or communities. Due to this skewed perspective, they continue believing the biphobic propaganda they’ve learned and try to find (or coin) a new word that, while expressing the same concept of bisexuality, is free from biphobic stereotypes. Unfortunately, the effects of this don’t only happen on an individual level.

Some alternative labels come directly from (and perpetuate) misguided biphobic ideas such as “bisexuality only includes two genders,” “bisexuality is binary/transphobic,” or “bisexuals are sluts,” or “all bisexuals have preferences.” Since biphobia is so prevalent in our society, these ideas go unchecked and eventually break into the mainstream where they spread even more. That’s a really great thing for bigots. Homo/biphobes love watching our own community confirm their notions that attraction to the same gender makes people vapid, regressive perverts. Transphobes love to hear that you need a unique identity to not be repulsed by transgender and nonbinary people.

Due to all of this, the “bisexual” label becomes even more undesirable as people with little knowledge of LGBTQ history or bisexuality take these messages as facts, then tell bisexuals that we’re wrongfully exclusive or transphobic — even when we’re transgender ourselves — and if we disagree with the harmful definitions people shove on bisexuality, then we aren’t bisexual at all. It’s heartbreaking and infuriating to know that while being bisexual is makes you a part of a beautiful culture, most don’t know it because of biphobic propaganda from both mainstream society and the LGBTQ community.

What I find incredibly concerning, though not at all surprising, is that the vast majority of alternative labels stem from “bisexual” specifically. People of all sexualities can experience attraction in different ways, but we don’t see a push for gay men who prefer thin, relatively hairless men to call themselves “twinksexual.” Butch women who date other butches don’t need to name themselves “butchsexual.” We — well, people who aren’t transphobic — don’t tell straight men who date transgender and nonbinary women that they’re no longer straight. Why is bisexuality seen as the only monolithic identity?

The vast majority of people who say they “don’t do labels” in regards to their sexual orientation would fit definitions of bisexuality; very few who exclusively experience same- or different-gender attraction shrug off labels to the degree bisexuals do. Someone refusing an identity altogether is, unfortunately, the closest thing we get to bisexual representation in media most of the time. This is not a coincidence.

When people insist that bisexuals who don’t have preferences, who acknowledge their attraction to all genders, who don’t find gender too relevant in their attraction, who date nonbinary people, who are nonbinary, are actually another sexuality entirely, they imply that bisexuality is insufficient when it isn’t. They say that our identity can’t possibly describe something that it always has.

Unfortunately, many people use alternative labels as a disclaimer for — and, ironically, a way of restricting — bisexuality. That hurts all of us, regardless of the word(s) we use to describe who we like.

This is also why many bisexuals have begun tightening their grip on their label, as activist Verity Ritchie explains:

The debate as to whether the word “bisexual” was worth keeping was derailed by biphobia. The average bisexual was seen to be inherently a creep, a pervert, and a transphobe, and thereby it was decided that anyone who uses the word “bisexual” and doesn’t move on to one of the various alternative labels must embody transphobia and perversion (though this accusation is often phrased in the politest way possible). The behavior and beliefs of the individual bisexual is irrelevant. As a result, people started “reclaiming”, in a sense, the word bisexual as a defense against biphobia. The meaning of the word “bisexual” has changed, for many, to include the meaning, “I will not tolerate biphobia in any form.”

A friend, Brodie, once said: “you can tell me that ‘bisexual’ is an outdated or apolitical or meaningless word all you want but… if that[’]s the case, why are people still so scared of it?”

Is It Really Just a Preference?

There’s another big reason people shake off the “bisexual” label in favor of others: “I just like this other term better.” This is a reasonable enough statement at face value, but this rationale can hurt us.

First, sexuality labels weren’t necessarily made for comfort — they’re for describing which genders people are attracted to. They started out as political and remain so today. “Straight,” “gay,” and “bisexual” aren’t merely identities; they’re collective legal categories, positions in an oppressive power dynamic (that identifying as other terms does not provide an escape from). We cannot ignore that reality when people are still being fired and disowned and killed for who they love. That’s why the LGBTQ community exists, why we continue to fight for our rights.

Second — and what I really want to focus on, here — nobody ever thinks about why other terms, if they see them as synonyms, may feel better than “bisexual.” This lack of introspection can be rather damaging, considering the reality of biphobia.

This phenomenon of dodging this label goes back decades, as revealed by Lucy Friedland in her 1989 article, “Are You Suffering From the BLA’S?: New Disease Discovered in Bi Populations: The Bisexual Label Avoidance Syndrome.”

Many people who lead bisexual lives would rather call themselves nothing at all before calling themselves bi… Other people aren’t anti-label per se, they just don’t like the “b” word. They say they can’t relate to it, that they don’t even know what it means. You even come across certain “extreme” types, who definitely aren’t squeamish about labels given that they adopt other stigmatized labels like sado-masochist, anarchist, pagan or punk, but even THEY wouldn’t call themselves bisexual. I recently co-led a workshop on bisexuality at an anarchist conference in San Francisco. About 45 people showed up… what I heard was a long litany of reasons why people didn’t want to call themselves bisexual… many felt they had nothing in common with people they know who call themselves bisexual. I was pretty floored considering this was billed as a workshop on bisexuality.

The “need” to distance oneself from bisexuality has a lot of reasoning. After all, we’re sex-obsessed, disease-ridden, and desperate for a lay. (Speaking of “disease-ridden,” the AIDs crisis did a serious number on the public perception of the word “bisexual.”) We’re flaky, indecisive cheaters incapable of monogamy. We’re always lying. We’re straight and looking for a way to invade the gay community, or we’re gay and too cowardly to admit it to ourselves. Hell, we’re not even real — we’re a sexual fantasy at most, rendered nonexistent as soon as the PornHub tab closes. “It’s no wonder that many young people who grew up hearing all of these violent beliefs are shying away from bisexuality and choosing to identify with a different term or none at all,” remarks Seely.

On top of all that, as most of us know, people often deem bisexuality a phase. Bisexuals, especially younger ones (especially teenage girls), are dismissed or blamed for society not taking bisexuality seriously. One entry from the IAmPansexual LiveJournal community, as an example: “I sort of fit in with the pansexual stereotype, and since bisexual is being adopted by the ‘trendy’ [12-year-old] girls at the local middle school, I decided to drop that label.”

This sentiment is unfortunately commonplace. It never seems to occur to people that maybe, just maybe, more bisexuals exist than they assume and sexuality isn’t static.

An article in the Journal of Sex Research notes that “some multisexual individuals may adopt queer and pansexual labels to avoid stigma associated with a bisexual identity.” One pansexual told Psychology Today that “pansexual” was “easier to say than bisexual.” One pansexual interviewed for a paper in the Graduate Journal of Social Science had this to say:

[T]he other reason people tend to use [pansexuality] is because it is hard to be labeled bisexual. Straight people just hate on you and call you ‘Fag’ and the mainstream Lesbian and Gay community is nasty too, calls you ‘closeted’ and ‘half-gay’. Also people say [that] bisexual means slutty or that you are a ‘2-Beer-Queer’. So people don’t want to stand up because face it, it’s hard. So they say ‘oh that’s not me, I’m pansexual’.

I personally know a few bisexuals who suffered from so many biphobic remarks that they considered switching to other labels purely as a refuge. Relatively new identities (in terms of mainstream recognition) have fewer negative assumptions.

Few people write fearmongering articles about what to do if your partner has “concealed” their “sexual fluidity,” people seldom accuse omnisexuals of having “straight-passing” privilege, and there aren’t any scientific “tests” trying to prove heteroflexible people don’t exist. Pansexuality has been marketed to the public for decades as an “advanced,” “more inclusive,” “more liberal” alternative to bisexuality. Sometimes, the issue isn’t as simple as a mere preference for another name. Bisexual identity is discouraged by people of all other identities.

One of the most aggravating things to hear when talking about bisexual struggles is, “this is why I/people avoid this label.” All I really hear is, “there are many people out there who would call themselves bi — and may even otherwise find comfort in doing so — but don’t because of the stigma, and somehow it’s the word’s fault,” and “many bisexual struggles are easily dodged by just calling yourself something else; if you still choose to take on that word, it’s your problem.”

Owning Our Discomfort

“Bisexual” is a loaded, tricky word for almost everyone. For our heterosexist society, it challenges the idea that being attracted to men and being attracted to women are mutually exclusive. For those misguided about bisexuality, they associate it with the enforcement of the gender binary. For bisexuals, it’s tied with a slew of horrible stereotypes that will make people view us differently if it escapes our lips. Admittedly, sometimes it’s very hard for me to be proud when biphobia is so busy making me stressed, angry, fraudulent, and ashamed.

I feel unsafe for my love for men. I feel guilty and predatory for my desire for women. (I’m also rather disgruntled by the insistence that I must divide my attraction into “men, women, and nonbinary people” when nonbinary people can be wo/men.) I’m terrified of outing myself, even to gay people. I constantly question the validity of my experiences, even when I have no reason to. The misinformation floating around about bisexuality sickens me to my stomach. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t bisexual, and people constantly telling me that I am wrong about my own identity and should call myself something else sure doesn’t help.

But here’s the thing: Despite all that, in-between the moments of unhappiness, I find bisexuality itself to be absolutely lovely. The world loathes me from all angles, sure, but I adore my community and I’m honored to be a member. It’s one of the safest places I’ve ever known. Surrounding myself with other bisexuals was a genuinely healing experience that unlocked not only friendships but a new way of understanding the world. Loving other bisexuals aids in me loving my own bisexuality. As I work on truly embracing it, I feel less afraid of myself.

When I read about bisexuals of the past talking about bisexuality and our community, it’s clear those discussions come from a place of sincere care and pride (or, in the words of the opener of Naomi Tucker’s Bisexual Politics, “with pride, rage, sisterhood and love”). I found a purpose in trying to amplify the bisexual voice in these silencing times. I recognize that almost every reason I feel iffy about my sexuality is due to society, not the experience itself, and none of them define me. Existing and standing your ground in the face of hatred is an incredibly brave thing to do.

Do I think “bisexual” fits me like a glove? Not necessarily — but neither do oversized sweaters, and I think we can all agree that they’re still great. Labels aren’t supposed to be straitjackets. They’re not meant to squish your complexity down, but simply to provide a canvas to paint your story on. They’re not a shirt in a closet, they’re a house. I’m slowly turning mine into a home.

With the “just use the most comfortable word” mindset, though, I’d still call myself gay, possibly even a “gay man who likes girls sometimes.” I’d make no effort towards the daunting task of unlearning my internalized shame or unpacking my trauma — that I might’ve not even recognized if it weren’t for considering bisexual identity. Does that seem like a good thing? Would you tell a lesbian suffering from similar stress that it’s okay for her to be ashamed of calling herself a lesbian? That she should just use a new word rather than addressing the reason she’s stressed?

Of course, using other words might give some relief, and it’s natural to want that. Still, simply rebranding bisexuality ignores the root problem that causes society to routinely minimize it, forcibly interpret our attraction to people as fractions, and act as though we’re incapable of loving people fully, our single-gendered partners merely being halves of what we supposedly “need” to be satisfied. In fact, it isn’t even guaranteed that one will face significantly less stigma just by using different language for their identity. It should be understandable why some of us hold concerns about things that seem to legitimize breaking bisexuality into even more pieces.

If the word “bisexual” fits your attraction and you dislike the way it sounds coming out of your mouth, it’s much more valuable to understand and work through those feelings than smother them. In Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics (2007), Jennifer Baumgardner reveals:

The word bisexual makes me cringe at times, but saying I’m heterosexual or a lesbian feels inaccurate — regardless of who I am in a relationship with. So, cringing all the while, I use the label. Because of my relationship to the term feminist, I have learned that cringing is often a sign of unfinished political business: the label bi sounds bad because, at least in some ways, bisexuals are an unliberated, invisible, and disparaged social group.

It’s natural to start believing the harmful things taught to you when they’re shoved in your face enough times. It’s common to feel iffy about certain identity labels. But the solution is not to give up and flock to new ones, but to face your unease head-on.

Consider what about the word “bisexual” that unsettles you when applied to yourself. Could it be due to society demonizing bisexuality and painting it as shallow, debaucherous, fake, hypersexual, unfaithful, and taboo? Have you internalized the beliefs that it’s regressive, apolitical, exclusive, or outdated? Could your aversion come from a wish to escape these judgments? Do you still think the term is somehow limiting — and did people who don’t identify as bisexual teach you this?

Now, I mentioned earlier that valid criticisms do exist for the word. For instance, it’s a Western term (that said, we could say the same for “nonbinary” and “gay”) that, for decades, has not only been pathologized (which is why some people just say “bi” instead of the full “bisexual”) but routinely pulled apart due to false accusations of it being inherently restrictive. As blogger @woman-loving expresses, “identifying as bisexual entails a commitment to being constantly misunderstood.”

Still, negative associations and stereotypes attached to the term seem to be the main preventive factors for identifying with it, which is a much bigger issue. Also, words like “gay” and “bi” aren’t just words we stick to ourselves — they’re collective identities with histories, terms for building community and political unity. When we encourage the idea that sexualities are nothing more than self-expression cards, many people attracted to multiple genders turn away from a large community that would welcome them with open arms and resources. They see “bisexual” and go, “well, this clearly isn’t for me,” as if the words we use override the experience of multi-gender attraction that we all share. (Since it’s relevancy to the rest of this article is uncertain, I continue this train of thought here.)

Alternative labels are enticing to many because they often shield those who claim them from stereotypes hurled at bisexuals. Unfortunately, this process discourages addressing those stereotypes, and thus serve as individual fixes to societal issues. They don’t prompt anyone to question why attraction to men and women is deemed opportunistic or outright impossible, or why it’s assumed that bisexuals are naturally more attracted to men, or whether we should really consider “nonbinarity” a coherent category.

I also understand why an increasing number of people would rather not associate with the word “bisexual.” It’s much easier to distance yourself from something than to self-reflect on it. Still, it can sometimes hurt more than it helps. The discourses, politics, and stereotypes surrounding “bisexuality” are relevant to all multi-gender-attracted people, regardless of how they identify. Adopting alternate terminology won’t dismantle the social systems that make “bisexual” a problem.

In fact, some of the same issues it’s facing are slowly being placed onto its alternatives. Some people now say that “pansexual” is rigid in comparison to “omnisexual” (primarily due to the belief that pansexual identity requires a lack of gender preference, even though it doesn’t) while some self-identified pansexuals accuse self-identified omnisexuals of falsely defining pansexuality to differentiate themselves.

Are we to expect this cycle to end? Even if “bisexual” was completely phased out of our lexicon, who’s to say that the next label in line doesn’t begin receiving some of the same flak we did, right down to the idea that we’re somehow “restrictive”? The issue here is biphobia, discrimination against who we fancy — and it’s getting increasingly clear that negativity towards the word “bisexual” is a manifestation of that problem, which won’t be solved by discarding it.

People say that reality shouldn’t be uncomfortable. They’re absolutely right — I truly loathe the idea that “the world will always be cruel and you just need to deal with it.” But this isn’t about whether it should or shouldn’t be uncomfortable. Right now, it just is. We can’t avoid this, and we only cause more damage by pretending we can solve problems solely by catering to emotion. We must identify their source.

Unlearning harmful ideas you’ve internalized will always be intimidating and unpleasant. However, “unpleasant” doesn’t mean “wrong” or “not worth it.” Taking risks, apologizing, telling someone how you feel, and standing up for yourself are all awkward, scary things we all need to do sometimes. Progress seldom comes from the path of least resistance. The truth is, we can turn discomfort into a good thing.

As Naomi S. Tucker says in Bisexual Politics: Theories, Queries, and Visions (1995):

Language is powerful, and even those of us who don’t choose the bisexual label have a responsibility to ensure that the world is safe for those who do. One way to accomplish this goal is to practice the word ‘bisexual’. Say it again, ‘bisexual’. Paint it on the walls; wear it on a t-shirt. Write it in toothpaste on your bathroom mirror; notice it as you stare at your beautiful self. Bisexual. Say it louder; say it in public; say it to someone who might not be comfortable hearing it. Let them begin to get over their discomfort. Begin to get over your own. Ask yourself: what is it about that word that is so frightening to people? How can we lower the fear content, undo the negative associations, create new meaning, open possibilities?

Closing Thoughts

This piece is not a demand. My intention is not to insist that bisexuals who identify with other labels should drop them immediately, or that those who don’t use labels at all are required to pick one up. Ultimately, if you adamantly refuse the word “bisexual,” there’s not much that some words on a screen will do to change your mind.

What I do hope for, though, is that folks will try stepping out of their comfort zone, if only for a bit. The stereotypes and violence that force us away from the “bisexual” label do not define us, nor do they define bisexuality. We can all revel in our diversity and love while also being bisexual. I refuse to believe that we must run away from ourselves.

If gender doesn’t prevent you from being attracted to someone, consider the B-word. Maybe even take a step forward and read up on bisexual history and politics, because the bisexual community welcomes you. If you can, surround yourself with bisexuals through meet-up groups, LGBTQ centers, or just online. I find this is the most fool-proof way to normalize bisexuality for yourself.

At the very least, recognize that you are, in fact, bisexual for being attracted to men and women, to multiple genders, to all genders, regardless of gender, however you like describing your sexuality. Know that this is a wonderful thing, even if the world wants you to hate it or you stack other labels on top. “When you choose to claim bisexuality as a part of yourself,” Seely says, “you become part of a community with a long, rich history of shared struggle and shared joy. It is worth it.”

To people who already identify as bisexual, remember: you don’t need to change your identity to avoid stigma, to come off as “more inclusive” or “purer,” to be taken seriously, or for the approval of others in any capacity. You’re allowed to enjoy this word, and you are enough.

While “bisexual” remains an uncomfortable word, there’s value in exploring and examining one’s discomfort — and making bystanders uneasy in the process. I’m going to keep doing that. This word has power, and in that power, we can find pride. If you want, you can take the infamous string of letters and fly a kite with me.