Feminism Made Me Queer

When counting my privileges, of which there are many, I’ve always acknowledged how nicely I fit into the dolled-up Heterosexual Dream. Rom-coms are basically porn for my almost shameless wish to meet a Heath Ledger-esque babe and go on spontaneous romantic road trips. Depictions of love and sex in Hollywood have always represented me no matter how toxic, and I find conversations about hookups and relationships accessible without fearing ostracisation.

Understanding this, a while ago I made a tiny change in my lifestyle. I started to use the word “partner” instead of “boyfriend” or “husband” when referring to (seemingly very far away) future relationships. It began when I decided that Marriage Is Awful And I Shall Not Partake In It, and the inherently patriarchal word “husband” irked me. I found myself relishing in the ambiguity of such gender neutral language, enjoying the moments of hopefully educational discomfort when my interlocutor would look me up and down trying to decide if I was a lesbian. Eventually my word choices of “partner” and “they” became solidified enough in my feminist activism that I was bothered by other people using masculine language, asking me if I have a boyfriend, or making incredibly annoying comments about what a future boyfriend might think of my “aggressive” feminism. My unease at this gendered language eventually vocalised itself, and I developed a little voice in my head that indignantly yells “Hey! What if I have a girlfriend?” I didn’t want to make a statement about my sexuality, I just thought the assumption of straightness was problematic, and I wanted to call it out.

This small, everyday activism developed alongside my long term project of deconstructing myself; trying to identify how I’ve been moulded, shaped and twisted by the patriarchy, dismantling those aspects of my personality, and rebuilding them with as much autonomy as my Objectified female being can muster. Despite Simone de Beauvoir’s very sound theory that it is impossible for women to transcend the patriarchy, nevertheless I try. I try pretty damn hard. I’ve stopped shaving, wearing bras, eating meat, saying slurs like “slut” and “gay”, stopped ascribing to concepts of virginity and marriage, and a plethora of other problematic norms. Eventually, I saw that disentangling myself from the patriarchy is a process of seeing myself as a real person. As a Subject, to be philosophical about it.

For now I will simply assert that the patriarchy, at its core, denies female personhood. Women are quite literally not seen as worthy humans; we are not capable leaders because our voices aren’t deep enough, we are not good mothers if we re-enter the workforce but are not good members of society if we stay at home, we are not professional unless we wear makeup and bras, we are not pretty unless we are thin. Growing up in such a world, the path of least resistance is to agree. The easiest thing to do as a woman is to hate yourself, and hate other women, because that’s the “cool” thing to do; idolising masculinity is the key to success.

On the flipside, loving yourself as a woman is a radical act. As much as I seem to be quoting pastel pink watercolour posters on Tumblr, there is an incredible truth to this statement. When our cultural norms of cosmetics, gendered toiletries and secretive language define our social relationship to vaginas, pubic hair and fat, wholeheartedly loving the supposedly “gross” female body is inherently countercultural. When being “not like other girls” is a compliment because “most girls” are boring and superficial, genuinely caring about and loving women is a defiant act. After years of slowly shucking my internalised self-hatred and seeing myself as a real, important human, I began to extend this to other women. Instead of staring at girls’ stretch marks in disgust, I tried mentally congratulating them for their confidence. Instead of rolling my eyes at the “social-climbing-bitch” in high school, I tried to see how her friends mistreating her caused a distrust in genuine female friendships. I like to think that I’ve reached a point where I consider the girls in my life to be just as talented, complex and interesting as the boys I’ve always admired.

There was a girl on a summer camp who I thought was so cool. I wanted to be friends with her because I really cared about her, and the interesting things she talked about, and the awesome way she did her hair. She started to have a strange amount of airtime in my head, and the subsequent internal reflection went like this:

Me to myself: “What’s going on here?”
Myself to me: “You have a crush on her.”
Me to myself: “Interesting.”

It was something of a non-issue, we ended up being friends and it was nice. I had about three simultaneous crushes on various boys on that same camp, and life continued as normal. I didn’t think of myself as being gay or bi or queer and I still don’t, though perhaps I should, considering subsequent feelings for other girls.

The conclusion I’ve come to is that in my feminist mission to love women, I ended up… loving women. In my project to use more gender neutral language, I found myself comfortable with the idea of dating a girl. This is not a new idea, Adrienne Rich’s 1980 essay “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence” theorised a “lesbian continuum”, wherein female bonding as a radical defiance to the patriarchy is a natural expression of fluid sexuality, but the concept of lesbianism as sexual essentialism is a deterrence to women embracing these feelings.

I don’t relate to the gay narrative of suppressed emotions finally unveiled by a coming out process. This is a valid and important narrative, but what is less talked about is the incredible fluidity of sexuality. And moreover, the active choices we make that affect who we are attracted to. I maintain that if I were to stay stuck in my fourteen year old anti-feminist ways, I would never feel attracted to the girls I do today. It was only in my conscious choice to see women as powerful, beautiful and sexy that I developed romantic feelings towards them. Sexuality is usually linked exclusively with ideas of identity politics, but my wayward crushes don’t impact my identity. They’re just a byproduct of the emotional vulnerability that occurs when a woman decides to defy her sexist socialisation.