The problem with determining the “culture” of any identity is that the act of definition is inherently exclusionary. It’s a complicated balance to strike, because there’s nothing quite as powerful as community-based bonding, but there’s also nothing like being alienated from the same community because you feel like you’re not meeting their expectations. My own queer community, then, can be just as alienating as mainstream hetero culture. Sometimes when I tweet about my confusion over the latest viral tweet about bisexuality, some of the responses (even those made jokingly) from those in my own community question my authenticity as a bisexual man, as though challenging these preconceived notions of what that identity looks like is cause for suspicion. The latter, by emphasizing our commonalities in the hope of promoting togetherness, actually helps to assimilate the LGBT movement into heteronormative structures, rather than challenging the oppressive norms forced upon them.Īs a result, not only are most people equipped with this fundamental understanding of people in the world, but those within our own queer communities can also be caught up in that system, perhaps without even realizing it. The former has us presume that everyone’s heterosexual, and that the norms and institutions built and maintained under that assumption (such as marriage and traditional gender roles) are worth enforcing and protecting. Much of this confusion occurs due to both heteronormativity and homonormativity. We are told that we are just in a layover on our way to Gay Town, as Carrie put it on Sex and the City. These social dynamics are, of course, different online than they are in my physical community, but the consequences are still real.īisexual individuals like myself are already forced to contend with a variety of expectations and presumptions that come from outside the LGBT community. These social, online pressures might appear trivial when separated from each other, but when taken as a whole, it begins to feel as though there are passwords I’m not privy to.īy merely questioning the assertion of some so-called bi characteristics, I’ve risked feeling rejected by my own queer community. I’ve been told that I’m not a real or proper bisexual person for various reasons, from not cuffing my pants to being in a heterosexual relationship.

I often find myself feeling left out, particularly because I’ve started to feel as though I’m not doing bisexuality right. It’s a reminder that marginalized identities also have their own sets of expectations, distinct from mainstream culture but potentially just as overwhelming. Even scrolling through these tweets or posts on Tumblr, I find myself getting a jolt whenever one connects with me, however abstract or universal the sentiment actually is, because so many simply do not. Posts like these can have a strange effect because they either make you feel welcomed to or shunned from the community. Recent additions include: “ almost outing yourself on a pun,” “ your eyes hurting from getting so little sleep” and “ having a mental breakdown on your kitchen floor.”

Like not being able to drive or being bad at math, memes related to sexuality tend to spread because people see a kernel of truth in them, and fashion trends evolve in communities and expand within them where specific style decisions grow into something that feels like an affectation of one’s identity (watch as the “ french tuck” explodes thanks to Queer Eye’s Tan France).īisexual culture is being created in real time online, catalogued at places like the “Bi Culture Is” Tumblr, where users submit ideas and examples. Of course, it’s not really just about cuffing. I was surprised to learn that these perplexing sartorial choices were supposed to be part of my identity. While it’s not surprising that bi people want to create a specific culture, it’s strange to find myself feeling like an outcast among outcasts.

French tuck meme