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 Do queer women who date men benefit from straight privilege and how do they navigate GLBTIQ spaces? Sara Eileen reports.
There are many bisexual and queer women who are trying to find their place the broader queer community. As such, many of us run up against an unexpected, silent issue: How do we deal with the men in our lives? Can we claim our attraction to men proudly alongside our attraction to women? How will doing so affect our welcome in queer spaces?
I’m a queer woman, and I’m dating a bisexual man. No matter how much we love the queer community, it’s rare for us to feel truly comfortable when we look like a heterosexual couple. Instead, we find ourselves uniquely isolated, assumed to be ‘straight interlopers’ or ‘tourists’. The public understanding of queer identities seems to rarely account for heterosexual pairings between queer people. As such, we tread carefully.
My partner and I both love being out and about at queer events. All too often we’ll find an adver-tisement for an upcoming event and have a few minutes to get excited about it before realising that it’s for men only, or women only. We’ve both had to learn how to go out and party on our own, even when we would rather be dancing together.
Elizabeth is a 34-year-old queer woman who has been balancing the issue of public bisexuality for several years. Her attraction to men is a continuing difficulty in her relationships with wom-en. “As a bisexual woman, I've often felt unwelcome in lesbian spaces,” she says.
“And when I'm dating a woman I tend to downplay my attraction to men.”
Elizabeth speculates that the negative reactions she faces as a bisexual woman have a lot to do with common stereotypes of bisexuality. The most prevalent one seems to be that bisexuals are simply playing the field before settling with one gender or the other. “I think that sometimes there can be a real problem trying to date a woman if you've last been seen, in your own particu-lar community, dating a man. There is the assumption that you're just ‘playing around.’”
Even queer spaces that are open to both men and women can pose a challenge. As Sinclair, a 29-year-old queer woman who primarily dates other women, says: “I do tend to have a knee-jerk reaction seeing a seemingly ‘straight couple’ in a queer space. Like, why are you here and why do you think you belong?”
Often bisexual women choose to distance themselves from their male partners rather than jeop-ardising their welcome in queer spaces. “I don't usually bring male partners into specifically queer spaces,” says Elizabeth. “It feels not so much disrespectful as a way of alienating myself further from the queer community I love, even if those spaces are open to both men and women. It's extremely unfortunate that I feel the need, and yet I do.”
Bisexual men share this concern as well. “I don’t enjoy going to events with my girlfriend’s friends,” says May, a 23-year-old bisexual man who has been living with a bisexual woman for the past three years. “I’m very obviously the odd man out.” May also finds that even if people guess that his girlfriend is bisexual, they’ll still assume he’s straight. “I don’t look straight, but I’m with a pretty girl, so I must be.”
Outside of queer spaces, bisexual women and men can struggle with a feeling of invisibility. It becomes difficult to claim a proudly queer identity in the wider world, masked by the perceived ‘straight privilege’ of female/male couples.
“I do worry about both straight privilege and queer privilege a lot, actually,” says Elizabeth. “I don't like people looking at me when I'm with a man, and assuming that I'm straight. Being queer is an integral part of my identity, and I don't like when it's invisible.”
Ironically, straight privilege is a double-edged sword for women like Elizabeth and myself, giv-ing us access to the advantages enjoyed by heterosexual couples, but only half the time. Often this can make the injustice of unequal queer rights all the more pressing. I find myself hyper-aware of how my treatment changes depending on the gender of my partner. I often dress in bla-tantly queer or alternative styles, trying to break out of the assumed ‘straightness’ that comes when I’m seen holding hands with my boyfriend. And in environments where this option isn’t available, such as my strict dress-code corporate workplace, I alternate between feeling frustrated and subversive.
“It’s a challenge in the queer community,” Sinclair says. “The community grows, and more sex-ual and gender minorities find themselves at home in it, which is good, but it also means that it’s fracturing. Hopefully as we as a community continue to welcome new identities, we will also become more open and understanding.”
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