‘You’re just confused – you should really pick a side.’ ‘You’re being greedy.’ ‘Yes, but who do you actually prefer, men or women?’
As a 31-year-old bisexual woman, these are the kind of comments I regularly receive as I try to go about my dating life.
You may think that we’ve moved past prejudices based on people’s sexuality. But, sadly, I’ve lost track of the number of biphobic comments I’ve heard over the years.
The worst part? Biphobia comes from both straight and LGBTQ+ people. And, honestly, I’m so sick of being vilified as ‘not straight enough’ for those who are heterosexual, or ‘not queer enough’ for those who are homosexual.
You only have to look at the infuriating backlash against JoJo Siwa to see what I mean. Having risen to fame as a child star on reality show Dance Moms before becoming a pop star, the 22-year-old had previously identified as a lesbian, and was dating non-binary actor Kath Ebbs.
Yet after appearing on Celebrity Big Brother earlier this year, JoJo got together with ex-Love Islander Chris Hughes, and now identifies as queer. In an interview with the Mail’s You magazine, she revealed she had felt pressured to identify as a lesbian rather than queer or pansexual (meaning attraction to people regardless of gender).
‘When I came out at 17, I said: “I’m pansexual, because I don’t care [about gender].” But then I kind of boxed myself in and I said: “I’m a lesbian.” And I think I did that because of pressure,’ she explained – adding that some of this pressure came from within the LGBTQ+ sphere.
This is despite the growth in women identifying as bisexual; 9.2 per cent of Gen Z women are bi, according to the latest Office for National Statistics (ONS) figures, and bisexuals make up 45 per cent of the LGBTQ+ community. Our visibility is helped by stars like JoJo, Miley Cyrus and Billie Eilish (though it’s telling that they all label themselves ‘queer’ or ‘pansexual’, rather than ‘bisexual’, which is a word loaded with so many harmful misconceptions) and today’s dating shows also regularly include bi contestants.
Yet, for me, growing up in the wake of Section 28 – the legislation that banned the promotion of homosexuality in schools until 2003 – while my peers and I were just about becoming aware of homosexuality, no one presented being bisexual as an option.
One of the only bi TV references I can recall from that time is the episode of Sex And The City where Carrie, then dating a bi man, says: ‘I’m not even sure bisexuality exists. I think it’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown.’
So when I first realised, at university, that I fancied girls as well as guys, it felt shameful. There wasn’t a big LGBTQ+ scene then, and homophobic comments were rife – I recall one couple in my year being described as ‘too pretty to be lesbians’ – so I didn’t come out until after graduation.
Initially, I told people I was ‘queer’, partly because I felt conscious of negative connotations around being bi, which made it harder to trust myself. I still believed I needed to ‘prove’ my bisexuality, to myself as much as others.
I’d date a woman and think I must be a lesbian; then I’d meet a hot guy on a night out and think I’d imagined it all, only to fancy a girl on the Tube… And so the cycle continued.
Consequently, by the time I had finally accepted that this is just who I am, many of my friends had settled down.
Yet the more open I’ve become about my bisexuality, the more I’ve been confronted by just how much biphobia still exists.
I’ve been propositioned countless times by men looking for a ‘unicorn’ – the elusive third in a threesome with a man and another woman – including by one guy I was dating who, unprompted, sent a selfie of himself with another girl in bed.
In addition to sexualised comments from men, I tend to get fewer matches with lesbians on dating apps, which I assume reflects their fear that we’ll ultimately leave them for a man.
A Stonewall study found that 27 per cent of bisexual women had experienced discrimination within LGBTQ+ spaces; I’ve been denied entry to gay clubs because I look ‘too straight’ and have even been asked ‘Why are you here?’
When you’ve grown up fearing the reaction of straight people, this rejection from the community that is supposed to accept you can be devastating, leaving you feeling more isolated than ever.
Even those who aren’t consciously judgmental treat me differently. I’ve received plenty of intrusive questions in social or even work contexts, such as ‘Who do you prefer?’ and ‘Who’s better in bed?’ People seem to think they have the right to demand your sexual CV.
So it’s no wonder that bisexuals are more likely to be closeted than our gay and lesbian peers. Only 36 per cent are out to all their friends, and just 20 per cent to all family.
There have certainly been times I’ve avoided these conversations, because who wants to have to constantly explain yourself? But it’s not healthy to hide an important part of your identity, either.
In fact, bisexual women have been found to have ‘the worst health outcomes of any sexuality’, according to a 2023 study. We also have the highest rates of anxiety out of LGB people, at 72 per cent.
We are also more at risk of domestic violence, often thought to be linked to the way society oversexualises us, including in porn. The ONS found that bisexual women are nearly five times as likely to have experienced sexual assault by a partner or ex-partner than heterosexual women.
After my own struggles, I’m determined to help other bi people who feel alone, and have recently started organising events – from singles nights to ‘speed friending’ – for the bi community in London.
As Pride month comes to a close, I only hope that more people come to realise that biphobia is no joke – and that the B in LGBTQ+ deserves just as much celebration as the other letters, all year round.
