I'm a bisexual woman. Can I bring my cishet boyfriend to Pride?
Let's answer this question once and for all—and then leave it in the dust.
It’s Pride. Which means it’s time for queer people to commemorate the courage of our ancestors to fight the power and declare our right to exist by celebrating the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. We tend to do so with sunshine, parades, glitter, leather, and parties—so it can be easy to forget that the purpose of Pride is so much bigger than a fun time. It’s a statement of resistance.
And as we start making our plans for the month, the ever-present question starts to creep in: Can bisexual women bring their straight, cis male partners to Pride events? And is it biphobic to say no?
Of course, this question doesn’t only apply to the month of June. It’s a question asked in other ways all year long: “Can I bring my boyfriend into sapphic spaces?”
I’d love to give you one simple answer: It depends on the event. And if it isn’t plainly stated that the event includes allies or is open to everyone, and you don’t want to do the research necessary to find out from the event organizers, then assume that the answer is no.
And that is, ultimately, my answer.
But the reason why this question is #wlw TikTok fodder, fueling lesbian-versus-bisexual discourse, is because there’s some nuance and complexity here. And neither “We don’t want your crusty-ass boyfriend in our spaces" nor “It’s biphobic to say that my partner isn’t allowed to support me in this space” actually hits the mark.
So let’s talk about it.
Are you bisexual and struggling with feeling validated in your identity? Let me help! One-on-one coaching sessions can be a great way to gain that confidence!
Something I’ve been chatting a bit about on Instagram lately is what we lose when our understanding of complex issues—like queerness—comes from simple sources. A 60-second video—that we don’t even finish watching because our attention spans are all fried—is not an effective explainer.
And without historical context and theoretical frameworks for why queer spaces exist in the first place, of course we can’t understand why their protection is so important.
But the existence of queer spaces is much bigger than the current container; it’s deeper than your desire to be allowed in with whomever you want to invite.
Queer spaces have historically existed—and continue to exist—as a safe(r) place for queer and trans people to be together without the threat of cisheteronormativity. And historically, as well as contemporarily, straight people being in those spaces has had violent consequences (see: Stonewall).
Of course, if you live in a liberal area, like a big city, and especially if public perception of your sexual identity is a protective factor against virulent homophobia, you might be convinced that anti-queer harassment (and worse) is no longer a problem. And the woefully misguided “Love Is Love” campaign for marriage equality may have left a lasting misconception with you: that straights and queers are basically the same! And besides, shouldn’t queers be more tolerant of straights, since they ~know what it’s like to be discriminated against?
But the fact remains: Queer spaces exist for queer people.
Indeed, many queer people see these spaces as safe havens where they are freed of the burden of being perceived by straight people – not unlike the necessity of woman-only gyms or events that are created for people of color. Sometimes marginalized people just want to be together, without the oppressor’s gaze, because it feels like a relief to put that down for a little while.
Infiltrating that—whether you’re actively causing harm or not—is not only inappropriate. It is emblematic of the very entitlement that oppressors possess.
By virtue of being a person of the oppressor class entering a space for oppressed people, or being of the latter, but bringing someone of the former into the space, you are demonstrating oppressive behavior.
This seems a bit more obvious when using the aforementioned examples: men in women’s spaces or white people in spaces for people of color. It almost feels absurd, if you come from a social justice perspective, to imagine someone feeling entitled to those spaces.
So where is the disconnect when it comes to queer spaces?
A lot of this has to do with a knee-jerk reaction to perceived biphobia.
Don’t get me wrong: Biphobia is real, and it is pervasive. Biphobia is a subcategory of homophobia, wherein the stereotypes applied specifically to bisexuals (like being greedy, confused, or unable to practice monogamy) is used to actively discriminate against them.
And one of the unique traits of biphobia is that it is expressed both in mainstream, cisheteronormative culture and from people within the queer community.
This isn’t unusual for people of marginalized experience who are perceived to straddle a line between power and oppression. People of color who are mixed race where one side of their family is white are often seen as “not white enough” for white people, but not Black/Mexican/Japanese (etc.) enough for people on that side of the experience. Children of immigrants often speak of a similar complexity of being neither of the “old” country nor assimilated into the “new.”
Because bisexual people have proximity to the power structure of heterosexuality, especially when they’re read by others to be straight, both the mainstream cisheteronormative culture and the queer community can see them as less-than: “You’re not like us.”
This is biphobia.
And because this experience is so pervasive—especially for bisexuals who feel invalidated and invisibilized and deeply hurt by it—anything that seems to hinge on the fact of their bisexuality can feel triggering.
That makes sense in a world where you’re hypervigilant of danger. It’s a protective mechanism.
So, often, when bisexual woman hear that their cishet boyfriend isn’t allowed in certain spaces, they can interpret it as “We are discriminating against your permission to bring a partner into this space because you’re bisexual.”
Stop and read that again, because I think it’s really important: Bisexual women often hear “Your bisexuality prohibits you from accessing this space.”
And let me be abundantly clear: If and when people are saying that (which they rarely are), that is unmistakably biphobic. (Indeed, I am of the belief that lesbians fighting for lesbian-only spaces where bisexuals aren’t allowed is inherently biphobic—and, plainly, ahistorical. I know that’s a controversial opinion. We can talk about it another day.)
To say “Bisexuals are not allowed in this queer space” is biphobic.
To say “The straight, cis partners of bisexuals are not allowed in this queer space” is not.
And this is why: Being partnered with you doesn’t change the fact of their straightness. No more than I, as a white person, should be allowed into spaces for people of color if I’m dating one.
If a space is created with the intention of keeping straight, cis people out, then that includes your straight, cis friends; your straight, cis family; and your straight, cis partner.
A person cannot be queer by association. Period.
That is to say: You, the bisexual, are not being discriminated against. You’re allowed in! It’s the straight, cis person who isn’t permitted. And you can’t be biphobic against a straight, cis person.
Of course, this would be incredibly difficult to enforce by the event organizers because it’s inappropriate to assume folks’ gender and sexuality. That’s why it’s up to you to self-enforce.
“What if I’m a bisexual woman with a bisexual boyfriend? What if my partner is perceived as a man, but is genderqueer? What if my partner is a trans man, but passes as cis?” You’re both queer. Come on in. (Unless it’s a sapphic-specific space, and your partner doesn’t identify as sapphic.)
Sometimes, I see this conversation take a strange turn, where people who are sometimes perceived as a straight couple, like in the above examples, make a point about others not assuming their gender and sexual identities.
That’s true, and that’s valid. And I’ve had this experience myself: My last partner was a trans masc non-binary sapphic who would be perceived as all over the gender spectrum; we never knew how he’d be seen. My partner before that was a genderqueer person who, when dressing more masculinely, would be perceived as a man.
But I’ve never felt excluded by it because we knew that we were queer. I never assumed that conversations about straight, cis people in queer spaces had anything to do with my partners—because they weren’t straight, cis people!
“Don’t bring your cishet boyfriend to queer spaces” is not the same as saying “We will make assumptions about who is straight in this space.”
It’s saying “Because we won’t make assumptions about people’s gender and sexual identities, please use the honor system here and don’t bring in straight people!”
There’s a common refrain that I love: “If it isn’t about you, it isn’t about you.” It comes up a lot in online spaces because people tend to struggle with not being a part of a conversation and will “not all men” or “well, actually” or “insert something similar” their way into any point.
But if we’re not talking about you—if you and your partner are both queer—then we’re not talking about you! We are talking to and about people who don’t realize how inappropriate it is to bringing non-queer people into queer spaces. Those are the folks who need to hear this.
Of course, it can still sting: You love your partner. You think they’re the bee’s knees. You don’t think they’re harmful—and certainly not homophobic. They have your seal of approval!
But that’s not the point. It’s not about whether or not they’re nice or how they feel about queer and trans people.
For one thing, not unlike the Russian Roulette comparison when talking about which men are safe for and which are violent to women, we don’t know this person, and we don’t want to take the chance. Just like abusers have plenty of folks who will back them up, your insistence that your partner is a-okay simply isn’t enough. Just because you trust him and want him around doesn’t mean the rest of us do.
For another, the point stands: A space made for a marginalized group is not one for a person not marginalized on that axis to infiltrate. And the desire to do so is oppressive in and of itself.
Now here’s the good news: Many—if not most—Pride events are open to everyone, queers and allies alike! Indeed, many queer spaces in general are, including due to the desire to let questioning or closeted/stealth people into the space with a provided cover.
The fact that we have this conversation every year is baffling to me when it’s a non-issue at many of the events you want to attend in the first place!
So can your straight, cis boyfriend come with you to Pride? Fuck yeah! If the event is open to all, which most are. Just keep an eye on him and make sure he acts appropriately.
Love,
Melissa
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