“To be yourself is a truly revolutionary act.” – Lena Waithe
I asked one of my queer friends today what Pride meant to her, and she said it was about being authentically you, taking ownership of you who are. Which then raises the question: who am I, anyway? I could answer this in a myriad of ways. I might say I’m the loving energy at the source of all things, or a thread of consciousness interwoven into the great cosmic tapestry, or a soul who’s lived many lives, or the human who was born in 1977, or the cis female author cat-lover dancer rebel Jew poet Los Angeleno etc etc etc add more identities to taste…
I used to identify as bisexual. This was important to me, as I discovered some raised eyebrows when I came out - officially in 2020, when I had my first girlfriend, unofficially since I first watched The L-Word in 2007. To my surprise, I found suspicion even within the queer community. Some considered “bi” a baby step toward the declaration of “lesbian,” while others deemed it an excuse for straight women to have threesomes to please their male partners. But mostly there were people who thought bi wasn’t gay enough – who didn’t want to date me because they were concerned it was just a phase. So it mattered to take a stand for people like me who were genuinely attracted to both males and females, or as I prefer to define it, to more than one gender.
These days, I prefer the more fluid label “queer,” although to be honest I don’t much like to be labeled at all (see my Hinge profile, in which I question the need to tell potential dates my astrological sign). I see how it can be helpful/necessary for some folks, and I support that. But as I feel myself becoming more open to various genders and sexualities, I’m less attached to being called this or that. This isn’t to say I don’t have preferences – I still tend to be attracted to people who present more masculine than I do – I just find myself embracing a less polarized set of identities.
When doing research on labels/identities, I found this from writer Tia Farnsworth:
Growing up, I identified as bisexual. While I’m still comfortable with that term, it doesn’t encapsulate the nuance of my sexuality. “Queer” feels better for me, because what I truly am is bisexual and homoromantic.
Here’s what that means. While I find cisgender men attractive, I am not authentically me when I date them. For me, “bisexual” means being sexually attracted to all genders and gender expressions, but “homoromantic” means I only have romantic feelings in queer relationships. Because this is a little complex, I just say “queer.”
Interesting, huh? While I wouldn’t necessarily call myself “homoromantic,” I do find that my window of attraction toward cis, straight men has narrowed as my sexuality continues to unfold. I used to say “bisexual” on dating profiles because I didn’t want to turn off men. Now I say “queer” because it feels more authentic and because if anyone’s turned off by that, they’re obviously not the person for me.
One of the areas identity is also up for me is in my exploration of drag. Traditionally, drag has been interpreted as dressing up and performing as the “opposite” gender. Men = drag queens. Women = drag kings. But that’s changing. First of all, there are non-binary and trans people who don’t fit neatly into the described categories. And then there are cis people like me. Drag historian Joe E. Jeffreys says drag is a theatrical form: “you put it on, you take it off – which is different from how you present yourself in everyday life.” Ru
Paul says drag is about making fun of identity, of being a shapeshifter, of “transforming into the most confident version of yourself that feels more comfortable really being you.”
As someone with a history of pelvic pain, I like the idea of exploring a heightened version of femininity – of being able to have fun with my gender and sexuality in a playful, empowering way. I don’t want to be defined by a condition or past identity, and drag provides an opportunity to try on – literally – a new persona. A new life. And not take it all so damn seriously.
And yet…sometimes it is serious. I’ve fallen in love with HBO’s award-winning series We’re Here, which features three drag queens traveling across small-town conservative America opening hearts and minds as they put on drag shows with recruited locals. Sometimes these locals are queer people who’ve been shunned in their communities, and sometimes they are allies with queer children or homophobic pasts they want to make up for. I’m usually sobbing by the end of each episode due to the beauty, the humanity, the sweetness and liberation.
For those who think Pride Month is just about waving a rainbow flag, here’s a little reminder of why it’s so important.
· Recognizes history: Pride Month commemorates the Stonewall Uprising in June 1969, a series of protests against police harassment and persecution of LGBTQ+ Americans, led largely by brave trans women like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. It also recognizes the impact LGBTQ+ individuals have had on history locally, nationally, and internationally.
· Creates a sense of acceptance: Pride Month events and conversations can help people feel more accepted and comfortable with themselves and others in their local communities. This can encourage people to come out to friends and family, and can help build a world where LGBTQ+ people can be safe, healthy, and celebrated. This is more important than ever in response to increasing violence linked to drag-themed events, gender-affirming care, and LGBTQ+ curricula in schools.
· Empowers people: Pride can help people feel a sense of agency and accomplishment, which can motivate them to set goals and continue to experience well-being.
This year, more than ever, I’m proud to be me, just as I am. I may not present like the typical LA queer – I don’t have tattoos or septum piercings, I don’t live on the Eastside, I don’t socialize in bars, I don’t play pickleball, and I don’t even like disco. It can sometimes feel awkward to inhabit queer spaces – like I don’t quite belong. But I do belong, and I am loud and proud in my own unique way. This especially comes out in my writing. My blog is an honest exploration of my sexuality, the protagonists of both my novels are queer, and celebration of diversity is a key theme in all my creative endeavors.
How do you celebrate Pride? What are you loud and proud about in your life? I’d love to hear from you in the comments if you feel like sharing.
Pride to me is a celebration of fluidity and choice in all areas of life. Pride makes us all more free. I tend to agree with Judith Butler, gender is nothing more than a social construct.🏳️🌈
Bravo Brava, Bonnie! I loved “I don’t play pickleball “ lol”!😂 the photo is so you—-colorful and celebratory! Happy Pride! Happy Pride to you too, Amy!